The Queen's Hand
by ALiteraryLife
Summary: Takes place post 6x10 as Tyrion, Daenerys, and the others sail for, and arrive in, Westeros. Understanding, respect, and mutual admiration draws Tyrion and Daenerys together and ignites something neither of them could have seen coming. Can The Queen's Hand allow himself to fall in love with the one woman he'd die for but can never have? M for sexual content. COMPLETE
1. Part I

Tyrion Lannister stood on the edge of the ship, his hands gripping the wooden, slightly splintered railing. He found himself feeling fortunate, somehow, that his small stature allowed him to fit in this small enclave, hidden in one of the sharp corners of the ship. It was here that he did his best thinking – perched on the edge of the ship, gripping the railing as he watched the dark waters below. The seafoam mesmerized him. He often found himself picking out shapes and ever-changing patterns. They'd only been on the seas for a few days, yet he had found himself with a routine that frequently led him back to this spot.

He was nervous. More nervous than he'd dare admit to his Queen or even Varys. Each passing of the oars brought him closer to King's Landing. Closer to Cersei - the Mad Queen - and likely, closer to his death. He wasn't really scared of death anymore, he thought, staring into his wine cup. All he could hope for now was he'd survive long enough to see Daenerys Stormborn take the Iron Throne. And if he couldn't, he'd die trying. That was good enough for him.

Tyrion turned and jumped down to the deck where he leaned his back against the railing and watched those on the ship move about. He had the honor of being on the ship carrying the Queen, along with Missandei, Grey Worm, and Varys. _Being the Hand of the Queen has its benefits_ , he thought, raising his wine to his lips. His body warmed suddenly and for a moment he thought to fool himself into thinking it was the wine. In reality, his body surged with warmth and energy every time he remembered the day the Queen named him Hand.

"Such confidence," he said aloud. Had anyone ever shown such a level of confidence in him before? Had anyone ever dared trust in his capabilities the way Daenerys Stormborn had? He couldn't say he deserved it. Though he would spend his life, however short it may be, trying to live up to her expectations.

His fingers danced over the pin resting upon his chest. He had traced it many times. It wasn't the first time he'd donned such a symbol, but somehow, this time it felt like it meant something.

"I don't believe I could count the number of times I've seen you stroking that pin while staring off into the distance, my Hand."

Daenerys's voice shook Tyrion from his daydream. His cup jumped in his hands, wine spilling onto his chest and dripping down his front. The warmth he had felt suddenly turned to embers of embarrassment.

"My Queen," Tyrion said as he looked up into her face. The sun shone behind her, momentarily blinding him. "You mustn't do yourself such a disservice. Surely you can count higher than that."

The Queen snickered and took his place in the enclave, staring out over the water. While her petite body fit well, her height did not allow her to be hidden the way Tyrion often enjoyed.

"It doesn't even feel as though we're moving, Tyrion. It's as though the ships have stopped and time with it. Days pass as weeks or months rather than minutes and hours. Your sister sits on the throne – MY throne – and calls herself Queen."

Tyrion leaned against the railing beside her, his back toward the sea. _The irony_ , he thought. To him, the days passed at lightning speed. A fact he did not relish.

"I await the day I rise to find you have climbed upon Drogon and flown off to burn my sister to the ground."

"I admit I've considered it," Daenerys said. "But what of the rest of them? I will not burn them all the way your sister has. The way my father wanted. Your brother, Jamie -"

"My brother, Jamie, indeed."

Silence followed. Tyrion finished what was left of his wine and stared up at the mast over their head. Would he ever again fly his own sigil? Would he ever again want to?

A breeze picked up the Queen's dress, blowing the delicate fabric across his legs. Tyrion laughed, raising a hand to touch the hem of the fabric.

"A joke, my Lord?"

"Not so much a joke, my Queen. Quite the opposite in fact." Daenerys looked down as Tyrion captured the hem between his fingers, staring at it intently. "You are the fiercest woman I've ever known. You command dragons with a simple thought. You command armies with a glance. You will soon rule the Seven Kingdoms and the world, yet your dress is made of the most delicate fabric known. It drifts on the wind as though we were not sailing toward war and death."

"My dress," Daenerys began, "is not meant to be armor, Lord Tyrion. A dress is simply a dress. Do you think me less capable of destroying your sister and reclaiming my throne while wearing silk?"

Tyrion opened his mouth in protest, but the Queen raised a hand to stop him. Her amused expression did nothing to abate the embers in his stomach.

"Would you prefer I wear full body armor, carry a shield and sword? Would that make me safer than three dragons, an army, and a loyal Hand could do?"

Tyrion closed his mouth. It wasn't as though armor was a bad idea…

"It matters not what I wear. Nor what you, Grey Worm, or anyone else who fights for me wears. I should fly into battle naked on Drogon's back and it would make no difference. I will have my throne and you shall be at my side when I take it."

"Of course, my Queen." Tyrion said, instinctively raising his empty cup to his lips. "I only meant that your silks and delicate dresses could give the misimpression that you are not a warrior."

"Then I shall have to correct that misimpression with fire and blood."

Tyrion inclined his head slightly, his lips upturned in a smile hidden by his facial hair. The image of his Queen flying naked into battle, dragon fire paving her way, had stayed with him. He had seen many naked women in his life, yet the thought of Daenerys Stormborn's ivory skin contrasted with the deep onyx of Drogon's scales gave him a chill. There was a time he would have paid several pounds of gold to have seen it. Now, he felt guilty and ashamed to even think of her in such a way.

"On that note, I seemed to have spilled more wine than I thought and am in desperate need of refilling. If I may take my leave, Your Grace."

Daenerys turned away from the sea finally and found her Hand staring at the sea at her back. His cheeks were slightly flushed, she could see under his scar and scruff. He would not meet her eyes and still held the hem of her dress absentmindedly at his side, his thumb and forefinger rubbing the material gently. Dany had to remind herself that there were still many layers to Lord Tyrion she had not yet peeled away. His loyalty knew no bounds, yet she often found him lost in thought which he would not share with her.

"You may, Lord Tyrion, but were you planning to take my dress with you when you go?"

Tyrion looked down at his hand so quickly his neck threatened to break from the force. He released her dress, throwing it as though it offended him, and turned, bowing slightly.

"Apologies, Your Grace. I have not quite yet learned how to keep my hand from roaming."

"Let's hope I will not have the same problem with my Hand."

XXXX

Tyrion lay in his quarters, hands under his head, staring into the darkness surrounding him. He didn't sleep much since they'd set sail. He pretended to try, but really only spent his nights thinking, imagining, and planning. He thought a lot about Jamie. His brother, the Kingslayer, had always been the only family he'd had that he'd actually felt something resembling pride for. Not to say there wasn't plenty of reason to dislike, distrust, and disavow his brother, but he'd been the only one to ever treat Tyrion as though he were more than just a burdensome imp.

Jamie had sacrificed his honor and reputation to kill Aerys Targaryen, the Mad King. Being a member of the King's Guard meant protecting the King, not killing him. Being the leader of that guard and then murdering your King, even if he was mad and dangerous to all, was treason. Jamie Lannister had been labeled a traitor to the throne and only the Lannister money had saved him in the end. Money, and Cersei's marriage to the new King. Jamie sacrificed everything to protect the realm from the Mad King and now Cersei, their sister and Jamie's one and only love, had become the Mad Queen. Tyrion could only imagine Jamie's tortured heart.

He could also only imagine all the ways in which Cersei would have him killed. The flayed man may have been the sigil of the Bolton house, but it was Tyrion himself whom he saw Cersei flaying in his brief moments of unconsciousness. It was Tyrion himself whom he saw Cersei hunting, burning alive, cutting into pieces. He didn't fear death; not really. He expected it. His mind was just preparing itself by imagining all the ways in which she might do it. Because he knew she would. If there was one thing he could count on, it was his death by his sister's hand.

He rose from his blankets and set his lamp ablaze. It was not a bright light, but just enough to cast the room in a gentle glow. He sat at the desk beside his bed and stared at the plans spread across them. He'd brought them to his room after the Small Council meeting to review. It wasn't so much a plan but an idea of "maybe this will happen" with a list of contingencies, houses loyal to Jon Snow and Sansa Stark, and a map of King's Landing and the neighboring areas.

"Jon Snow," Tyrion said to himself. Who would have thought the Stark bastard would have risen to be King in the North? A smile played across Tyrion's lips. He remembered his short time with Jon Snow during the journey to the Wall. He was much younger then and the world had already sought out to remind him he was just a bastard born in the south. Tyrion felt a certain kinship toward him.

A knock sounded from his door, gentle and short. He already knew it to be Missandei.

"Enter." Tyrion said, running his fingers over the map.

The door opened and Missandei stepped in, followed by Grey Worm. He was always there, wherever Missandei was, which was normally with the Queen.

"The Queen has requested your presence, my Lord."

Missandei stood near the door, Grey Worm at her side, his gaze as hard as ever. Tyrion had grown quite fond of Missandei. She was bright and cheerful most days, but she also spoke her mind when she felt it was warranted. He rather enjoyed arguing with her some days. He also enjoyed the impact their arguing had on Grey Worm, who was always quick to side against Tyrion. As though Tyrion couldn't see through that. You didn't need balls to have a heart and it was clear Missandei had stolen Grey Worm's.

"Has she?" He said, moving away from the desk. "Excellent. I was in need of refilling my cup anyway. Grey Worm can save me the trouble."

He tossed his cup to Grey Worm, who caught it easily and scowled.

"Am I a cup bearer?"

"You are many things, Grey Worm. Among them, the most honored Cup Bearer of the Queen's Hand. Hold your head high! I'll even see if I can find a cup bearer pin to fix to your chest!"

Grey Worm's lip curled slightly but he stepped aside as Tyrion exited the room ahead of them. Missendei's smirk was slight but Tyrion saw it nonetheless.

He entered Daenerys's chambers and found her standing near her desk, eyes tracing the sigil seal Tyrion had had made for her. He did not fail to notice the way the lamp cast his Queen in a silhouette. He wondered, briefly, how many more times he would be fortunate enough to see this level of beauty before his eyes were plucked from his skull by his sister.

"My Hand," Daenerys said, not turning from her spot.

"My Queen," he said in reply, feeling the warmth in his body spread as it did every time she called him as such.

"How is it, Lord Tyrion, that I can feel when you're awake? It's as though the air is alive and when you sleep, it feels heavier somehow."

"Let us be thankful I do not sleep often then, Your Grace."

Daenerys turned away from the desk and faced Tyrion. He nearly stumbled back and would have had his feet not felt like lead. Her hair fell around her face and across her shoulders and breasts. Her braids had been let loose and hair unbound from its ties. Tyrion saw the brush in her hand and imagined her doing something as mundane as brushing her own hair in the soft glow illuminating the room. He was struck mute.

"That will be all, Missandei, Grey Worm."

"Your Grace," they said in unison and left the room.

Daenerys moved across the room and joined Tyrion where he still stood near the sitting area. She sat down and put her brush aside.

"I'm in need of council, Tyrion Lannister."

Tyrion found his footing and moved forward, sitting down beside her. He reached for his wine cup and groaned inwardly when he realized Grey Worm had taken it with him – unfilled.

"How many I be of service, Your Grace?"

"Our plan after we arrive in King's Landing and I have taken the Iron Throne sees me calling upon Jon Snow to ask for his allegiance."

"Yes," Tyrion said, imagining Daenerys on the throne with Jon Snow standing beside her. It made sense to him. The Spider's intel said Jon Snow had become the most beloved member of the Stark family, living or dead. This said a lot, Tyrion thought, about Jon given he wasn't a true Stark. A bastard born in the south had somehow managed to win the loyalty of the North. Sansa Stark being at his side surely had helped, but it was still no small feat, Tyrion thought, to win the North with an Army of wildlings no less.

Daenerys cleared her throat and turned toward Tyrion.

"I have decided that I will send you to Winterfell instead. You will meet with Jon Snow and Sansa Stark, with whom, as I understand from Varys, you have a history. You will discuss terms with the siblings. You will be diplomatic and charming. You will stop any dissent before it may begin and then you will wait in Winterfell until called upon."

Tyrion felt as though a dagger had been plunged into his stomach.

"I will do no such thing," he said, rising to his feet, putting them eye-to-eye. "No one, not even the Spider, knows King's Landing and the Lannister twins better than I do. You will need me there to reason with Jamie, to deal with Cersei. You will need –"

"I will need you alive."

"And you shall have me alive! Do you really think I have come all this way, suffered through my sadistic nephew's reign, my sister's plots, my father's betrayal, just so I could run away with my tail between my legs to hide from them now? I will do no such thing."

"You will do as your Queen commands."

Tyrion opened his mouth to respond, but no words came. She was his Queen. The only word that mattered was hers. He could not disobey a direct order, yet how could he leave from her side at the most important time? How could he leave from her side at any time? He could not. He would not.

"My Queen," he said, falling to his knees in front of her. He took her hand in both of his, looking directly in her eyes for the first time since they set sail. "I beg of you, do not ask this of me. My place is here, by your side, facing it with you. Protecting you. I can see through the lies, the tricks. I've been the victim of them all my life; I know what to expect. I cannot advise you if I am sent away from you. How can a Hand know when to move if it's cut from the wrist that gives it life?"

"Life?" The Queen said, her brows drawn together as if the concept was foreign and ludicrous. "What life, Tyrion? What life is there if you are killed? What purpose does a wrist have without its hand? What purpose would I have if you died for me? "

Tyrion would have laughed if he'd been able to breathe. The idea that Daenerys Stormborn would have no purpose if – no, when – he died was unfathomable.

"Purpose, my Queen? You will rule. You will restore peace. You will do the things which you promised and take your rightful place on the –"

"Yes, yes, I would do all of that and more, Tyrion Lannister. I would rule and I would continue breathing. I would rise each day and I would rest each night. But how would I live, Tyrion, knowing I could have saved you, could have kept you safe, and allowed you to walk into a trap?"

"Daenerys Stormborn!" Tyrion did laugh this time. "Your life, believe it or not, is worth much more than my own. My purpose all along, I have discovered, was only to get you to this point. I will see you take the throne and then my own life be damned."

His heart softened, causing his eyes to shine and his features to relax. Here was his Queen, clearly not thinking straight, attempting to put his life before that of the realm; before that of the peaceful reign she would bring with her. It only made him admire her more and the embers in his stomach fanned to life. He squeezed her hands, causing her to lean closer to his face as he stared up at her. Her eyes searched his and he could see her sincerity. She pled with him silently until he patted the top of her hand and smiled.

"The place of the Hand is at his Queen's side. As it were, the place of Tyrion Lannister is at the side of Daenerys Stormborn, queen or peasant, it makes no difference. You may command me to leave you, Daenerys, but I will disobey that command with my dying breath if the gods decide."

He leaned in closer, a smirk upon his lips.

"It would be a death worth dying."

XXXX

The air was no longer warm. Tyrion could see his breath and the breath of the Iron Born on the neighboring ship. The warmth of Meereen and Vaes Dothrak was long forgotten. Daenerys no longer wore her silk dresses; rather, she had donned a combination of Dothraki riding pants and a wool dress embroidered with dragons around the neck. The cold didn't seem to bother the Queen as it did the others, but she had made a point not to look as though she wasn't suffering as much as those around her.

"A week at most, Your Grace." Varys stood beside Tyrion looking out at the frigid waters with the Queen. Tyrion watched his reflection in the dark wine of the cup, vaguely illuminated by the setting sun. The clouds had been kind today and allowed them glimpses of the sun.

Tyrion heard shouts being raised on the ships furthest from them and spun, climbing up on the side of the ship. He strained as far as he could to get a look and felt Grey Worm at his side instantly.

On the horizon, a fleet of ships flecked the waters, inching closer to them.

"Drop anchors! Now!"

Tyrion was shouting direction before he even realized what he was saying. Within seconds, the entire fleet had dropped anchors. At least now they would have a few more moments to develop a plan.

Yara Greyjoy leaned over the side of her ship, Theon Greyjoy at her side.

"They bare the sigil of the Iron Islands! Euron has caught up with us!"

Tyrion knew what the Queen would say even before he looked at her. She had pledged her loyalty to Yara and Theon just has they had done the same to her. That meant they had her protection. She would not offer them up to this crazed uncle who apparently had his own ideas of how Daenerys should rule.

"Prepare the armies. We will not run and we will not hand them over. Give them the chance to surrender and let's try to keep the ships in tact. My dragons are far, but not far enough that I can't bring them in time. I shall try to talk with this Lord of the Iron Islands first."

It took seconds for Grey Worm to begin communicating with the other ships. Within minutes each ship was alive with warriors ready to follow the commands of their Queen.

"My Hand," Daenerys said, and placed a hand on Tyrion's shoulder. "I may need your wisdom and pithy observations."

It did not take long for their ship to meet the messenger ship from the Iron fleet. Daenerys, Tyrion, Grey Worm, Varys, and Missandei stood at the helm of the ship as a handful of Iron Borns stood at the helm of their ship. Tyrion took inventory of the Iron Fleet. Each ship had as many men as it could fit on the deck. He gave up trying to count all the ships and focused instead of the archers perched in the masts, bows at the ready.

"Archers," Tyrion whispered to the Queen as she stepped forward.

"I am Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, the Unburnt, Queen of Meereen, Queen of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains, Mother of Dragons, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm."

A man stepped forward from the group opposite them and Tyrion knew instantly it was Euron Greyjoy. The crown on his head proved that almost as much as his arrogant grin did.

"And that's my ship you're standing on, Mother of Dragons. Tell me, where are my niece and nephew hiding, exactly? I should rather like to see them again. I've worried for their wellbeing so."

Tyrion felt Varys shift uneasily next to him. He knew why; this Greyjoy exercised too much confidence for a man acknowledging the Mother of Dragons.

"You have a choice, a rather simple one, really. Send your armada home. Flee to your Islands until I'm ready to deal with you, and trust me, I will come for you. Or watch your men burn around you; feel your skin melt from your bones and your organs liquefy. Of course, I'm prepared to accept your surrender, in which case I will allow the Iron Borns to return home under the reign of the rightful Queen, Yara Greyjoy."

Laughter filled the air. Not just from Euron, but all of the Iron Borns. Tyrion signaled for the anchor to be raised and their ship to be turned around. There would be no peaceful surrender here.

"I don't believe I can accept your terms, Your Grace."

An arrow flew. Tyrion saw it sail through the air faster than his lips could cast a warning. More came behind it, raining down upon them. Grey Worm was there instantly, shielding the Queen from the arrows while Varys took Missandei below deck. Tyrion vaguely registered the fact that he'd never seen Varys move so quickly before. The next thing Tyrion saw was the blood staining his Queen's dress, flowing freely where an arrow stuck out of her thigh.

He was there, behind Grey Worm's shield as they moved toward the back of the ship. His eyes met his Queen's eyes and while he saw pain there, he saw something else. Her eyes raised to the sky and Drogon swooped, enveloping Euron and his ship in fire. It took mere seconds for the rain of arrows to cease and screams to fill the air.

"We must pull the arrow." Tyrion said, more to himself than anyone. He pulled Grey Worm's belt free, casting aside his fighting knives as he secured the belt above Daenerys's wound, pulling with all his might until it was tight enough to stop the flow of blood. He glanced at Daenerys's face, but looked away quickly. He pulled the arrow from her thigh and she cried out briefly before stifling her pain.

"Wrap it," Tyrion said to Grey Worm who had already begun doing so. Tyrion stumbled back, his hands stained with the blood of his Queen. He felt himself grow faint at the sight of her blood on his hands. As though he could have felt any more inadequate than he already did, Tyrion found himself on the floor suddenly, his vision swimming and his breathing shallow. He heard Daenerys scream his name as her hand reached for him, grasping air instead.

XXXX

Pain shook Tyrion violently as he stretched in his sleep, forcing him awake. He gasped for air as he woke, reaching for something to grip. A hand took his, gripping it tightly in the darkness.

"Don't move. Don't even think of it."

"Your Grace." Tyrion said, feebly.

"You took an arrow in the side and another grazed your neck. Your neck is fine; only a scar will remain. But the arrow to your side caused a fair amount of damage on account of - "

"On account of my stature. Yes, I know."

"You fool, Tyrion Lannister. You carry no shield. You carry no sword. Yet you shield me with your body. You get yourself shot and then you tend to my wounds, you fool."

Tyrion felt genuinely confused. He hadn't shielded his Queen. He hadn't done a damn thing but stand there, rooted to the spot, watching the lifeblood flow from her.

"I didn't shield you," he said slowly. "I wish I had. That was Grey Worm. It was his shield protecting us."

"Yes," Daenerys said slowly, "but it was you who moved in front of me when you saw the Archers. It was you who pulled me down and covered your body with mine before Grey Worm's shield was there."

Tyrion struggled to sit up, pain shooting down his side instantly. Gods how he wanted a drink.

"Don't move, I said. Your Queen has given a command, Tyrion Lannister."

"But I didn't do what you're saying. How can you say such a thing?"

Tyrion's bed dipped as Daenerys sat down on the edge, moving from her seat beside his bed. Her hands still gripped his and the light from his lamp danced across her face. Her eyes were swollen and her hair disheveled as though she had been running her hands through it absentmindedly. She stared down at him, her eyes tracing his features and the embers in his stomach reignited. She removed one hand, still holding his hand with the other, and placed it on his cheek. Her touch was so gentle it made his heart ache. When had he last been touched by a woman in such an affectionate way?

"You damn fool." She whispered again before resting her forehead against his. Eyes closed, they stayed that way for a moment or two until Tyrion could no longer stand to have her so close.

"Your thigh, Your Grace," he said, pulling his head back slightly.

"It's fine. Aches, but no real damage was done. I suspect we'll have matching scars."

"Yes, well I rather think scars tend to improve my features. Gives me an edge dwarfs aren't typically known for, don't you think?"

"Thank you," Daenerys whispered and kissed his forehead before sitting back on the bed again. Tyrion could only nod. He did not remember making his legs move. He could not remember stepping in front of her in the first place, much less pulling her down when the arrows flew. All he could remember was the sound of laughter in the air, followed by the distinct scent of dragon fire.

Tyrion laid his head back on the pillow, staring straight. He felt the heavy pull of sleep begin to take him back under and, for once, he was inclined to let it. As he drifted into darkness, he felt the bed shift beside him and a gentle weight lay upon his chest, an arm crossing his waist.

XXXX

Tyrion sensed the glow of the lit lamps on his face before he actually opened his eyes to greet it. His body ached. There wasn't a part of him that felt comfortable, he realized, and lamented waking up at all. The weight on his chest, while not uncomfortable, had kept him from being able to shift his tired bones throughout the night. Yet, as he opened his eyes and looked down at the curls fanned across his chest, he could not lament his pain. Daenerys lay beside him, her head on his chest, arm across his waist, and leg draped over his. While not as obvious, their height difference did not escape Tyrion. The Queen's leg was bent at the knee and rested on his shin. Still, somehow, he felt her equal in that moment.

He raised his right hand, allowing his fingertips to graze her curls. Her hair was soft and thicker than he imagined. He gingerly wrapped a lock around his fingers, pondering the ramifications of the scene should someone enter unannounced. Still, he could not bring himself to wake her. _Just a few more moments,_ he thought. That was all he needed.

Daenerys shifted in her sleep, her arm and leg somehow pulling Tyrion even closer. A stab of pain shot through his body as she moved him, her hand resting over the wound on his side. With his face buried in her hair, Tyrion found himself bringing his free arm around the Queen, his hand resting on her arm. Careful not to wake her, Tyrion closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of her.

 _How easy it would be,_ he thought, _to fall for her. The imp in love with his Queen. Maybe I am the fool she says I am. I would be if I allowed myself to think of her in such a manner._

Tyrion knew he was dangerously close to allowing his admiration and affection for his Queen to develop into something more than the loyalty of a Hand to his Queen. His mind flashed briefly on the ill-fated moments in his life when he allowed himself to feel actual love for a woman and the irrevocable damage that had followed. It would only destroy what was left of him, harboring an unrequited love for this woman. He would soon be developing a plan for her to expand her political power through marriage. A chuckle escaped his lips as he imagined a love struck imp standing beside the Mother of Dragons, watching her marry for power.

"A joke, My Lord?"

Daenerys's head turned until her chin rested on his chest, looking up at him.

"Yes, I suppose so." He said, staring down at her. She smiled gently and then turned her head again, laying it back down. His hand still rested on her arm and her hair was wrapped around his fingers. "Apologies, Your Grace. My hands seem to have wandered again."

"I might've been offended had they not."

Tyrion felt a smirk spread across his lips. She was more brazen than he'd given her credit for.

"Are you comfortable? Am I hurting you?"

Daenerys's words were barely a whisper and she pulled her hand from his side, resting it on her leg instead.

"You do not cause me pain, Your Grace. Though I am in need of a new position."

Daenerys pulled back slightly, laying her head on the pillow rather than Tyrion's chest, her arms and legs removed from his body. He struggled some, but managed to turn on his good side so he was facing her. Appreciative of the fact that she did not try to assist him and allowed him to act as though he wasn't feeble in so many ways, he smiled at her.

They lay facing each other, heads cushioned, bodies pressed together in the small bed. Tyrion became increasingly aware of the inappropriateness of the situation he found himself in.

"If someone walked in," he began.

"I would send them out again," she finished.

"Still."

"Do you think it concerns me? Do you think it would somehow sully my reputation or endanger my reign if I were to be found in your embrace?"

Tyrion looked down at the position of their bodies. The Queen had her arms brought in to her chest, nestled under her chin. For once, she looked her age rather than the maturity life had forced her to take on so young. Though he often acted without fully thinking, Tyrion could not claim it at this moment. He was fully aware of his moments as he raised his arm and rested his hand on the Queen's side.

"It was hardly an embrace, after all."

Daenerys's eyes danced with amusement and… was it satisfaction he saw there?

XXXX

The Small Council gathered around Tyrion's bed several hours later. He had been allowed up to refresh himself and eat some bread, but had then been ordered back to bed by the Queen – without his wine cup. She had left him while he ate, retiring to her chambers to bathe and change the bandage on her leg. When she returned, she was accompanied by Missandei and took her place back on the edge of his bed. She was still there when the rest of the council entered.

Tyrion watched Varys as he entered, his eyes moving between Tyrion and the Queen. Though his expression gave nothing away, Tyrion knew his thoughts well; he'd thought them himself.

Grey Worm followed behind Varys and took his usual spot at Missandei's side. His eye did not even follow the same trajectory as Varys, which Tyrion found interesting.

"We need to develop a plan for resuming our journey," Daenerys began. "I'd like to give Lord Tyrion another day of rest and then raise the anchors and continue to Westeros."

"The Iron Fleet?" Tyrion asked, looking at Grey Worm.

"Split," he said. "Some rejoined the Greyjoy siblings and pledged their loyalty to them, others returned to the Iron Islands to be dealt with later. We have absorbed the new ships into our fleet under the command of Yara Greyjoy."

Tyrion nodded and looked to Varys.

"Any news?"

"The Iron Borns had limited news themselves, but say Cersei still sits upon the throne. Rumors abound, but seem to support the notion that Sansa Stark has made it her singular mission to kill Cersei herself. Whether she plans to take the Iron Throne or simply wants vengeance, we cannot be sure. It stands to reason she has the support of Jon Snow, despite his preference to prepare for the battle winter brings. The last the Iron Borns knew, there had been no movement by the Stark siblings."

"And Jamie?"

Varys inclined his head sadly, respectfully. "No word, My Lord."

"Very well," Tyrion said, looking to his Queen. "One day. No more. Tomorrow we raise the anchors. If Sansa Stark plans to go against my sister, she'll need our help to do it. There's likely no one my sister would find more joy in murdering than Sansa Stark. Other than me, of course. I'm still her number one."

"Yes," Daenerys said, her eyes holding his. "I imagine your former wife would be grateful for support."

Tyrion raised an eyebrow, searching his Queen's expression.

"Another thing," Varys said, interrupting Tyrion's puzzled thoughts. "The Iron Fleet had a few items of importance on board. Primarily food and supplies, but also – "

"Music," Missandei interrupted, happily. "Many instruments, Your Grace."

"The thought," Varys said, retaking the conversation, "is they might prove useful for reinvigorating your army, Your Grace. The Unsullied are not used to such things, but the Iron Born and Dothraki are accustomed to celebrations and the Dothraki especially grow anxious. Perhaps we should give them a night of celebration on the sea before we resume the journey."

"Very well," Daenerys said, rising from Tyrion's bed. "I'll leave the plans to you, Missandei, Varys. Confer with Yara Greyjoy and the Dothraki."

Without a second glance, The Queen left the room, leaving Tyrion to his thoughts.

XXXX

Sunset came and Daenerys's fleet passed rations of fresh food from ship to ship. The Dothraki slaughtered half of the remaining livestock so fresh meat could be had by all. With the extra rations from the Iron fleet, they had plenty of food to see them through the rest of the journey. Music filled the air and Tyrion watched Grey Worm watch Missandei dance on the deck of their ship. It was something to behold: Grey Worm's love for a woman he'd never have as a man should have a woman. Tyrion recalled his many trysts with whores and women who smiled at him while reaching for his coin purse. He'd never been smiled at the way Missandei smiled at Grey Worm. Not truly. Shae may have loved him once, but he hadn't lived up to her standards enough to keep her loyal. Grey Worm, on the other hand, was constantly reminding Missandei that he would keep her safe and happy. The pain knowing that could never be enough undoubtedly haunted Grey Worm.

His wine cup had already been refilled twice, yet Tyrion still did not feel comfortably numb. The warmth provided by the wine helped combat the brisk air, but did nothing to help combat the ache in his side. Or his heart.

He had not seen Daenerys since the small council meeting hours before. She had not yet joined the celebration and Tyrion had not been brave enough to seek her out. Something had passed between them in the night. They hadn't spoken of it, of course. He hadn't dared ask his Queen why she had slept in his bed. Surely she would rebuff his question and remind him that a Queen is responsible for her Hand as she is her armies and people.

Just as he began to refill his cup, Daenerys ascended the steps onto the deck and strolled toward Missandei, watching her dance. Her dress, he noted, was not equipped to combat the cold air this time. White with gold embroidered in a pattern resembling dragon scales, sleeveless with a plunging neck and flowing chiffon drifting on the breeze with her each step. She looked like a goddess rather than a Queen.

Missandei took Daenerys's hands and pulled her toward her, causing the Queen to laugh and spin with her. Varys and Grey Worm stood nearby clapping with the music and grinning at the sight. Tyrion swallowed the last of his wine and cradled his cup in his hands, leaning forward in his seat as he watched. On one turn, Daenerys's eyes found Tyrion and she held them, spinning with Missandei, laughter etched across her face. He watched as Missandei spun her with one hand and each time she rotated, her eyes found his again.

It was too much, he decided and rose suddenly. _Too dangerous,_ he thought, _to watch her like this._ He began to descend the stairs, going back to his chambers, when he heard the Queen call out for him.

"Lord Tyrion! The Queen would like a dance."

Tyrion froze, images flashing through his mind. How could he dance with his Queen? A half-man who barely reaches her stomach? A disfigured imp! Dancing with this goddess queen? All he could see was the awkwardness of her trying to figure out where to put her hands, having to swoop to reach him properly, his face leveled with her chest rather than her eyes.

Slowly he turned and faced Daenerys, whose expectant eyes challenged him. The spark he found in those eyes unnerved him.

"A thousand regrets, Your Grace, but my injury requires attention and I don't believe it would permit such activities. Besides, I rather think your soldiers would gain more enjoyment from seeing Your Majesty dance with the beautiful translator than the less stunning half-man."

Before she could respond, Tyrion gave a short bow and disappeared into the depths of the ship. He made it all the way into his room and had refilled his cup before the door opened and the Queen entered.

"You should not ignore a Queen's commands with such shamelessness, Tyrion Lannister."

"Forgive me, Your Grace. I meant no offense."

"You have offended regardless."

She took the cup from his hand and slammed it down on the desk before setting her sights on him. Her expression was fierce and the embers in his stomach set his every nerve aflame. Her hair fell across her shoulders, her Dothraki inspired braids crossing one another on top of her soft curls. He briefly remembered running his fingers through those curls and felt his cheeks flush.

"I meant no offense, Your Grace. My wound – "

"Was dressed a mere hour ago. Your aches dulled by the four cups of wine you've had this evening. You moved well enough down those stairs after all."

She stared at him and he stared back, without excuse or explanation. He only inclined his head slightly, acknowledging her words. She crossed the room suddenly, standing in front of him so he was forced to take a step back to see her face.

"You will dance with me, Tyrion."

Tyrion sighed, feeling his body surge with anger and embarrassment.

"Will I, Your Grace? Tell me, where should I put my hands since I can't reach to spin you properly? Where shall I fix my gaze since I think staring at your breasts might be ill advised?"

Laughter erupted over their heads and he heard Varys cheer on Grey Worm. He could only imagine the scene but felt a surge of jealousy when he did.

"It's funny, isn't it, My Queen? The Unsullied are mutilated so young to ensure they never find distraction with the opposite sex. Somehow Grey Worm has managed to win Missandei's heart despite his castration."

"I don't find it funny at all. I find it rather hopeful."

"Hope," he snickered as he picked up the wine and drank straight from the bottle. "Hope is for fools, Daenerys Stormborn. What hope have they? Hmm? He will never be able to touch her the way she deserves. He will never sire children with her. What can he do? Keep her safe and provide her with a few laughs if we're all lucky? Watch her from afar, admire her beauty, desire her, and yet be unable to fulfill those desires? Shall he commit himself to a life time by her side watching her love and be loved by another? How is that hope?"

Daenerys knocked the bottle of wine from his hand and set her gaze upon him in a way that would have shut him up had he had anything more to say.

"And she would die by his side, loving no other. Finding comfort only in his arms and his words. She would call herself his and he would be hers, his physical state be damned. Do you think it matters so how it looks to everyone else? Do you think she concerns herself with what others may whisper in the passing night, knowing his limitations and her sacrifice? Do you think anything matters more to her than the way he makes her feel? The way he protects her and seems to always put her first above the gods, his house, or his desires? Do you think she is so shallow that she would not cast aside all others to retain him?"

Tyrion stared up at her, his chest rising and falling with the force of his emotions. His blood burned with anger, passion, and desire. His mind screamed how she was wrong! _Naïve child!_ He wanted to say.

"If he cannot see what stands in front of him, perhaps he is a fool after all."

The Queen cast him one more glance and left his room as quickly as she had entered it, leaving him confused, angry, heartbroken and in love.

XXXX

"Enter," Daenerys called from inside her chambers. Tyrion steadied himself before pushing the door open. He entered, eyes downcast, and closed the door behind him. He leaned against it, gathering himself before finally raising his eyes. Daenerys sat in a chair in the far corner of her room. She watched him for a moment before returning her gaze to the book in her lap.

He crossed the room and stopped in front of her. He studied her for a moment, noting that she was reading the history of the houses of Westeros, currently stopped on the pages dedicated to House Lannister. Slowly he lowered himself to his knee in front of her, his side aching as he did. He kept his eyes cast to the floor.

"You've made a grave mistake, Your Grace, naming me Hand of the Queen. For how can a fool be Hand?"

Daenerys closed the book and looked at him, saying nothing as he kept his eyes focused on the floor.

"How can a fool be trusted, respected, and loved by one such as yourself? How," he said, finally looking up at her, "can I allow myself to love you the way I do when you are who you are? Do I set myself up to be crushed once more? I fear it would be the last time. How do I dance with you in front of your armies, your advisors, your people, let alone stand at your side as anything more than the great honor you've already bestowed upon me? I am not worthy, Your Grace. The things I've done… Where I come from. I'm literally half the man Daario Naharis is and he was cast aside, from your own admission, without evoking any sort of feeling within you at all."

"You are not Daario Naharis, Tyrion Lannister. Need I remind you?"

"No, my Queen. I assure you, I need no reminder of who I am and where I come from."

"I think you do need a reminder. You are," she said, leaning forward, "The Gift. And a gift you have been. The only one I need; Varys is the Spider, no matter what you say, and I will never trust him. Missandei is loyal to a fault, but there will come a time when she will find her own place. Grey Worm will follow her. You are the only one I can count on to always be at my side. To give me honesty when I need it but don't want it; to plan and find clever ways to protect me. You make me laugh and comfort me even when you do not intend to with your odd straightforwardness. And you are not the disfigured imp you see yourself as."

Daenerys placed her hand on the side of his face, staring down at him.

"It is you I long to be near. You whom I worry about above all others. You whom I wish to sleep beside at night."

Tyrion could not breathe under the weight of her gaze and her words. It was not that he didn't believe her, for he could see the sincerity in her eyes. It was that he didn't understand why. He would always be her advisor and he would never leave her side. That should have been good enough, yet here she was asking to be near him in a way he never expected to be near a woman again.

"Stand," she said, pulling him to his feet.

He stood in front of her, eye-to-eye and heart-to-heart.

"You will dance with me, Tyrion Lannister."

Her expression broke into a sly grin and she rose, taking his hand. The music from the fleet could still be heard through the walls of the ship, though much fainter than before. Tyrion followed her to the middle of the room and stood facing her awkwardly. He did not know what to do, where to put his hands, or where to look. He had never danced this way before and he had surely never done it sober.

"Look at me," she whispered. He looked up and she raised her arms above her head, laying her hands over one another. She moved her hips from side to side slowly, watching him as she did. She turned slowly, keeping her arms raised above her head. When she faced him again, he reached out, placing his hands on her hips. Daenerys's expression lit up slightly and she seemed to flush, though Tyrion couldn't be sure.

He moved with her, slowly moving his body to imitate her movements, turning when she turned, swaying when she swayed, his hands always returning to her hips. His blood pounded in his ears, warming his body and easing the knot in his stomach.

Slowly, Daenerys lowered her arms and reached for his hand. He took and it she stepped back slowly, her arm outstretched. She came forward once more and he nodded, replicating the spin Missandei had done. He watched as the Queen spun slowly, her hair dancing with her every movement. He caught her easily when she came back, his hands landing on her hips once more. She stopped moving and looked down at him.

"It appears you would know how to dance after all, Lord Tyrion. Did you wife teach you?"

This time Tyrion could not have imagined the distinct tone of jealousy in her voice. He smirked up at her, allowing his hand to caress her side gently.

"Sansa Stark was my wife in title only. There was no physicality, let alone love."

"Mm."

Tyrion chuckled and took a step back, his legs hitting a discarded crate. He glanced at it and then looked at Daenerys before stepping onto it. Still holding her hand, he pulled her closer until their bodies were pressed together and they stood eye-to-eye. Daenerys put her hand on his shoulder and Tyrion rested his hands comfortably on her waist.

"There was a time," he said, "when standing so close to a woman was meaningless. Only a segue into stripping her body naked. Now, I can barely breathe to look at you and feel my heart might escape my chest from the force of its pounding."

"I've never danced with a man before," she whispered. "I've been loved, admired, respected, and feared by men. But I've never danced with one before."

They swayed together, gently moving their bodies from side to side, yet never separating; never allowing any distance between them.

"I don't know what this is," Tyrion said, finally. "Am I to be your advisor? Your friend? Your lover?"

Daenerys smiled and looked away, seeming to ponder his words. When she looked at him once more, her eyes were filled with hope and determination.

"You are to be my King."

XXXX

Tyrion awoke in the Queen's bed in the morning. He couldn't remember falling asleep. The last thing he remembered was lying with Daenerys in bed, stories pouring out of them in the darkness. She told him about her brother, Khal Drogo, her lost child, and her fears upon landing in Westeros. He told her about his mother, Shae, and his fears being publicly romantic with one another. Of course, she argued; it was all she ever did. But he painted an image for her that was hard to deny.

"Say you land in Westeros, kill my sister, imprison my brother, take the Iron Throne, and declare yourself Queen and Protector of the Realm. Now, say you do all of this while calling the Lannister Imp your King. Do you expect the people of Westeros, House Tyrell and Martell, to support your claim? Do you expect them to allow a Lannister, from the very House they have sought to destroy, to sit beside you? It's one thing to be Hand of the Queen; that's all very well and good – I've done that before and I've done it well. But to ask your newly conquered people to call me King… Rebellion and anger, my Queen, that's what you'd find."

"Am I to be held captive? Am I expected to hide my feelings? To marry another for political gain, betraying my own heart?"

"You are to protect your people by whatever means necessary. You are to bring peace to the realm and prepare for winter. Jon Snow would be – "

"King in the North and that's all he'll be. I'm not even sure he'll be that quite yet. If you're about to suggest – "

"It would be," Tyrion said gently, "the wisest decision you'd make."

By the end of the conversation, Daenerys had only agreed to keep their newborn relationship secret for the time being. Tyrion was still unsure and convinced he would be murdered by Cersei soon anyway. What was the point is stirring the pot when Daenerys Stormborn would never actually wed him anyway?

He rolled onto his good side, facing his Queen. She still wore her dress from the celebrations the night before, though she had taken down her braids. She was stunning. Breathtaking seemed too weak a word. She hadn't just stolen his breath; she'd stolen his apathy. Suddenly, he found himself lamenting his inevitable death.

Embolden by their confessions to one another the night before, Tyrion raised his hand, stroking the side of her face with the back of his hand. His eyes settled on her lips and he sighed, wondering what she'd taste like, though he still couldn't actually imagine kissing her.

A few moments passed before Daenerys placed her hand over Tyrion's and opened her eyes.

"Good morning," she whispered and squeezed his hand.

"Good morning," he replied before kissing the back of her hand. Daenerys smiled and looked away shyly, which brought more joy to Tyrion than he would have thought possible.

"Did you sleep well?" She asked.

"I did. We should rise though. It's time to raise the anchors."

"Yes, I suppose if we must."

Daenerys started to lift herself from the bed, but Tyrion stopped her, squeezing her hand gently.

"I'll give the command, Your Grace. You rest."

"Will you rejoin me?"

"Yes, I suppose if I must," he said coyly, earning a smile from Daenerys.

"You must," she said.

Tyrion nodded and kissed the back of her hand once more before releasing it. He removed the covers and sat up, groaning at the tenderness of his wound. He glanced at the Queen and found her watching him, eyes laced with concern. He chuckled and shook his head.

"You worry too much," he said and leaned over to kiss her forehead, a thoughtless act which his body seemed to have decided upon free of input from his brain. Daenerys stretched at the same time he leaned over her and his lips met the side of her mouth rather than her forehead.

They both froze, Tyrion from shock and Daenerys from anticipation. Tyrion drew away slowly, his wide eyes meeting that of the Queen's. She stared at him and he glanced fleetingly at her lips before looking at her eyes once more. Her hand gripped his slightly, perhaps unconsciously, and Tyrion leaned in again, his lips meeting hers.

His lips melded against hers and he felt fire rage in his blood. He released her hand and moved his hand to her neck, cradling her against him. Her lips moved slowly, parting enough to accept his kiss and breathe in his breath. Her free hand gripped his arm and she closed her eyes. Somewhere in Tyrion's mind, he registered the fact that he was kissing his Queen. In a far louder part, he thought of the times he'd resisted before and how wasted those moments were.

He pulled her bottom lip into his mouth, releasing it quickly as he deepened the kiss. A moan escaped her lips, the sound echoing in his head and driving him forward. She gripped his arm tighter as he grazed his tongue over her lip, requesting access to her mouth, which she granted almost immediately. His tongue met hers and this time it was Tyrion who groaned into her mouth.

Daenerys drew her leg up, wrapping it around Tyrion and pulling him closer until they were flush against one another, yet still their bodies demanded to be closer. Her hand moved from his arm to his hair, tangling there and holding him against her.

She tasted sweeter than his favorite wine with a hint of vanilla that nearly unraveled him. He drew away suddenly, gasping for air. They stared at one another, chests rising and falling with deep, uneven breaths. Her lips were swollen and her cheeks flushed bright pink. Her eyes were slightly hooded and her hand still gripped his hair tightly, almost painfully. Suddenly, her lips found his again and he kissed her desperately, feeling her breathe life back into his long dead heart.

Mere feet away, Varys cleared his throat. Dany and Tyrion broke the kiss and Tyrion flung himself from the bed, his side screaming as he tore his stitches open with the movement. He stood beside the bed, still panting, and looked from Varys to the Queen. She lay still, her hair disheveled, lips swollen and raw, breasts threatening to spill from her dress.

"I did knock," Varys said. "Several times in fact. The fleet is prepared to draw the anchors if you're ready to give such an order, Your Grace."

Varys raised an eyebrow at Tyrion who stood in shock, one hand covering his mouth and the other clutching his side.

"Consider it given, Lord Varys," Daenerys said, rising slowly from the bed. "And speak of what you've seen here to no one."

"Of course, Your Grace." He bowed and left the room swiftly, leaving Tyrion staring after him.

XXXX

The next several days were spent discussing contingency plans for the arrival in Westeros with the Small Council, quizzing Daenerys about the Houses and Lords of Westeros, and deciding who would journey to Winterfell to meet with Jon Snow. Ultimately, it was decided that Varys would travel to meet with the King in the North; after all, the soldiers from the Iron Islands said it was the Knights of the Vale, lead by Petyr Baelish that had intervened in the Battle of the Bastards. Perhaps Varys could get a better read on the situation than any of them.

The nights were spent in the Queen's quarters. Some nights, very little was said at all. Some nights, words filled the room well into the morning. Tyrion bared his soul to Daenerys and she bestowed the same respect on him. Each morning they awoke wrapped around one another and Tyrion found himself wondering if he'd ever lain beside a woman he had not slept with. Perhaps his sister at some point before she had grown old enough to understand her level of hatred for him. The closest, he supposed, was Sansa Stark, though they had never had the level of intimacy he shared with Daenerys Stormborn.

Varys found many opportunities to throw knowing looks at Tyrion. While the others thought nothing of a stray touch upon the arm here and there or a glance that lingered a little too long, Varys seemed to notice everything. Still, he had not yet dared to speak of it, not even to Tyrion.

The morning of their last day upon the sea, Tyrion lie awake with Daenerys's head on his chest, his hand tracing circles on her bare shoulder. In his heart, he believed this would be the last day he'd greet the morning a living man, let alone a free man. He did not underestimate the power of his Queen, but he also knew better than to think Cersei would die before he did.

"I know your thoughts well, Tyrion Lannister, and I'll ask you to banish them from your mind."

Daenerys looked up at him, her chin resting on his chest. He smiled gently and nodded, though his thoughts remained the same.

"And still he thinks," she whispered, sitting up slowly.

"And still he thinks," Tyrion repeated.

"When we're lying in bed tonight, the Iron Throne won and your sister dead, I'll remind you of this moment when you did not trust your Queen."

"If we find ourselves in bed tonight, I assure you, you won't be doing much speaking at all, Your Grace."

He grinned at her, earning a flush of her cheeks and sharp exhale. Her eyes flickered briefly to his lips and then to the patch of bare chest beneath his shirt. Tyrion had already admired her bare shoulders and plunging neckline during the night. He was more aware of her body than he was of his own, for better or worse.

Daenerys leaned forward, planting a chaste kiss upon Tyrion's lips. When she pulled back, her eyes searched his.

"If you truly believe this to be our last morning together, why did you not touch me last night? Or the night before? Or any of the nights I've draped my body across yours and opened myself to you?"

Tyrion had asked himself the same question the night before when he'd stopped himself from sliding the silk straps his Queen's shoulders. He still hadn't come up with an answer.

"I can assure you, it's not for lack of wanting," Tyrion said, moving a hand under his head.

Daenerys moved suddenly, her lips finding his once more, though this time she took his face in her hands. Tyrion's eyes flew open as he felt the Queen slide her body onto his, straddling his waist. He began to protest, but she deepened the kiss, stealing his words as she drew his tongue into her mouth. He groaned instead, his hand moving instantly to her hips and sliding up her body to her shoulders.

She sat up, her eyes locked with his, and raised her arms, pulling her dress over her head. Tyrion felt all the remaining blood in his body rush to his groin. His eyes drank her in, memorizing the smooth, pale glow of her skin, the way her ribs jutted out slightly below her breasts, emphasizing her small frame. The way her nipples hardened and seemed to beg him for acknowledgment. A mole here, a freckle there, a small scar on her otherwise perfect skin. He sat up, his hands sliding down her back, around her sides to her stomach and back up again over her breasts. Dany arched into his hands, her eyes fluttering closed.

They were kissing then, her body pressed against his, her hands pulling at his clothes as he pressed himself into her, causing her to grind her hips downward. Tyrion felt himself grow overwhelmed, any control he may have had before she removed her dress melting away. He moved one hand to her back, rolling them until he was on top of her. He removed the rest of his clothes, holding her expectant gaze as he did.

When he finished, his lips found hers once more and he breathed her in. She moaned into his mouth and ran her fingers down his back, her nails leaving a faint trail on his skin. He moved his lips from hers, trailing down her jaw to her neck, tasting her as he went. When he finally reached her breasts, he glanced up at her before sucking a nipple into his mouth. She arched her back completely off the bed, her eyes closed tightly. She squirmed under him, the friction causing him to groan and rock against her. He continued his descent until he reached the apex of her thighs. Within moments, her hand flew to his head, gripping his hair and pressing him against her.

 _Would be a worthwhile way to die,_ he thought, relishing her moans. He wasn't sure how much longer he could listen to her before he'd fall apart, himself. She quivered under him, her thighs shaking as he gripped them. She seemed to melt into him, somehow.

She pulled at his hair, guiding him up her body until she found his lips. He kissed her slowly, deeply, and then sat back, aligning himself between her legs. She watched him, her chest rising and falling, sweat gleaning from her bosom, and he thanked whatever gods may be that he'd suffered his fate and found his way to her.

When he slid into her, he nearly came undone. The sensation and sight of her was almost too much when coupled with her moans. His name fell from her lips and Tyrion felt the crushing weight of doubt lift from his chest. He held onto her waist, rocking in and out of her, his speed increasing with each thrust. He nearly laughed out loud when his mind, completely unbidden, flashed on a memory of his brother Jamie catching him with a whore. He'd taken one look at Tyrion's nakedness and had raised an eyebrow, commenting, "I thought dwarfs were half the size of a normal man? How'd you escape that curse?"

Dany opened her eyes, watching him watch her. It was, he thought, the most beautiful sight in the world and somehow it was his to behold. She moved suddenly, rolling them so she was once more straddling his waist.

"My King," she said, moving her hips against him slowly. He groaned and laid his head back, allowing himself to enjoy the sensation of her body moving on his, her hands moving over his chest. Her breasts bounced with each movement, her curls thrown over her shoulder out of the way.

Tyrion felt her pace change and her breath quicken. Her moans grew louder as did the sound of her skin meeting his.

"Come for me, my Queen."

His own voice, he heard, was course and strained. He could not last much longer himself. Daenerys looked down at him, her eyes meeting his as her climax hit and she tightened around him, squeezing him with a pressure he'd never felt before.

Hearing his name fall from her lips proved to be his undoing. He arched into her, holding her hips down upon him and felt his body surge, his seed spilling into her.

When she laid back down on his chest, too winded to speak and him too happy to dare to, Tyrion had only one thought in his head.

 _I will not die today._


	2. Part II

**PART II**

Tyrion perched in his alcove on the deck of the ship, watching the horizon draw nearer. He'd been there for hours now, waiting for the moment when Westeros would be visible. Here it was, at last, and he had never been more prepared to fight for his life than he was in this moment. But it wasn't just his own life he was fighting for now; he was fighting for all of Westeros. The people who deserved a Queen like Daenerys, the honorable Houses within the Seven Kingdoms whose legacies he wanted to protect before they were wiped out, and most importantly, he fought for the woman who aimed to bring peace to the lands.

He jumped down from the railing and felt Grey Worm move with him toward the stairs leading to the lower decks.

"It's time," Tyrion said. Grey Worm nodded and the Unsullied soldier not far from them raised the ram's horn to his lips, sending a war cry into the air.

Daenerys was already moving down the corridor toward him by the time he descended the stairs. Tyrion noted she had taken his advice and donned a cream-colored dress rather than dark attire. He hoped to subconsciously instill the notion within the people of Westeros that Daenerys was the very image of light come to fight the darkness.

"Drogon?" she asked, as he fell into step at her side.

"He knows. He's been circling overhead for the past hour. Rhaegal and Viserion are nearby, as well. The last I saw, they were sharing a meal plucked from the ocean."

The Queen nodded and they climbed the steps to the deck. Tyrion could hear Yara Greyjoy on the ship beside them, readying the Iron Born soldiers. Beyond her, a Dothraki war chant filled the air. Grey Worm had already taken command of the Unsullied and they stood at attention, filling the decks of several ships.

"Your Grace," Tyrion said, drawing her attention from the horizon. "You are the Unburnt, but your Army cannot boast the same. The people of Westeros cannot and will not survive Wildfire. Should they attempt to use it, should Drogon accidentally ignite any remaining stores of it..."

"I know," she said. "I expect it will be the fleet's greatest challenge. You will hold the ships back until I am able to assess their forces from Drogon's back. I will not use Dragon Fire blindly."

"We also do no know for certain that Wildfire will not harm you, even non-fatally. Please do not act recklessly. Be bold, my Queen, but be safe."

Daenerys nodded and Tyrion turned to face Varys.

"Once more, Varys. I have to be sure."

Varys nodded, his eyes on the horizon.

"They will use the same strategy you did at Blackwater Bay. If we allow the ships to come within their range, I suspect we would lose most of the fleet. The Dothraki cannot swim; they would be lost above all others. Likely, Cersei will have prepared the remaining stores of Wildfire for both her own defense and a sea attack. The Queen should be able to see any Wildfire hidden in the waters from Drogon's back."

"And you're absolutely certain she did not exhaust her cache of Wildfire when she leveled the Sept?"

"Yes, My Lord. My little birds once told me there was more Wildfire hidden in King's Landing than there is gold in the Lannister pockets."

"Well, then," Tyrion said.

Tyrion and Daenerys exchanged a look, a silent farewell and a promise to meet again. The movement around them went unnoticed and their hands found one another, fingers lacing together for a fraction of a second before Daenerys turned away, walking to the edge of the ship. Drogon swooped down, spreading his wing out like a ramp for her to walk upon. She climbed up and took her place on his back as he flew into the air above the fleet.

Tyrion watched as Daenerys and Drogon soared over the various ships, the Queen reiterating her promise to the Dothraki, her pledge to Yara Greyjoy, and her oath to restore the Iron Throne to its former glory.

She was gone suddenly, leaving her army rallied and fortified in her name. The Small Council watched from the flagship as Drogon flew toward the horizon. Missandei stood beside Tyrion, wringing her hands over and over. Tyrion settled his hand over hers and looked up at her. "Our Queen will be fine."

Missandei nodded and released her hands, dropping them to her sides. She stood up a bit straighter, raising her chin in confidence.

The ships continued drawing closer to the horizon, not quite reaching the point where Tyrion felt they would no longer be safe.

Rhaegal and Viserion circled overhead, mighty roars tearing from their throats periodically. Tyrion watched as Drogon swooped closer to the surface of the ocean and then rose again suddenly, swooping once more.

"No wildfire in the sea," Tyrion noted.

Just as he said it, Tyrion saw a green orb fly into the air. It was meant for the Queen, he could tell. Another orb and yet another followed. Drogon dodged them easily, but soon the sky was raining Wildfire. She may be the Unburnt, but Tyrion was not sure that meant Wildfire could not do even superficial damage to her.

"It's rather smart," he said to no one in particular. "Raining Wildfire will fill the sea after all."

"She must stop the catapults if we are to come any closer to offer our assistance."

Varys glanced down at Tyrion, the words had barely fallen from his lips, yet he already knew Tyrion's mind.

"They'll be so busy focusing on destroying the Queen, they may not be prepared for a second moving target," Tyrion met Varys' eyes and then pushed past him suddenly. He looked to the sky as he raised his hand to his mouth, sending a whistle into the air. Rhaegal and Viserion both looked at him, though it was only Rhaegal who seemed to pay him any mind. He swooped down, hovering above the ship as Tyrion looked up at him, arms held above his head with caution.

"Your mother needs our help," he yelled up to him. "You know me, Rhaegal. I mean you no harm."

Rhaegal stared down at Tyrion and then roared, blowing fire into the sky above him. He turned back to Tyrion again, his eyes seeming to challenge him.

"Please," Tyrion said and he moved slowly, climbing onto the edge of the ship.

Rhaegal's wings flapped slowly, holding him in his spot in the sky. Tyrion held the mighty dragon's eyes until Rhaegal finally closed the distance between them and rested his tail on the deck of the ship, splintering the rail from the weight of it. Tyrion gripped the scales firmly, climbing carefully onto the dragon. He used the scales of Rhaegal's spine to guide himself onto his back. There was not a bone in Tyrion Lannister's body that did not tremble with adrenaline and fear.

He settled onto Rhaegal's back and leaned forward, talking to the magnificent creature.

"I am in your debt, now and always. Please do not fling me into the sea."

Rhaegal roared and soared into the air. Despite being a rather large dragon, Rhaegal was actually much smaller in size than Drogon. He had not been allowed to grow the way Drogon had, but in this moment, Tyrion was thankful for it. He would not have been able to straddle a dragon of Drogon's size.

Tyrion gripped Rhaegal's spine, the green and bronze scales glimmering in the sun. Ahead of them, Tyrion saw Drogon aglow with Wildfire. It did not seem to be slowing him down, but it was not lit, either. A single flaming arrow would be all it took to test the Queen's immunity to Wildfire. Tyrion wondered if Drogon's scales could be penetrated by the green flames.

As they drew nearer, Rhaegal screeched angrily and Tyrion feared he may breathe fire into the air.

"No fire!" He screamed, digging his feet into Rhaegal's sides. "Not yet!"

He used his body to direct Rhaegal and they soared to the side, aiming to dodge the Wildfire and swoop in behind the catapults. Ahead of them, the rain of Wildfire began to scatter, half of the catapults aiming for the Queen and the other half slowly repositioning to face the direction from which they came. Tyrion leaned forward, silently encouraging Rhaegal to fly faster. He roared once more and Tyrion gripped his scales with all his might.

In what seemed like seconds, they were in the air above the catapults. His eyes met Daenerys's as Rhaegal soared past her. Her jaw fell open in surprise, Wildfire dripping from her hair and skin, soaking her body. _Just one arrow,_ he thought again and pushed Rhaegal onward. Wildfire fell on them and Tyrion vaguely registered the tingling sensation it left on his skin. They were nearly within range of the archers now. The arrows being sent up would reach them if they went any further, yet he had no choice.

He dug his heels into Rhaegal and they swooped suddenly. Rhaegal seemed to read Tyrion's mind and he swung his body around, his tail decimating the nearest catapults and archer towers. They rose back into the sky to get another look at the land below and then swooped once more, destroying another set of catapults and archers.

In the near distance, Tyrion saw Daenerys enter the archer's range and flaming arrows flew.

Tyrion directed Rhaegal downward and the next set of arrows intended for the Queen flew in his direction. Rhaegal swooped and dodged with only one arrow hitting his tail where there was no Wildfire. Tyrion breathed his short-lived relief and gripped Rhaegal tighter as his body twisted, tail destroying the rest of the catapults and towers. Flaming arrows flew once more and Tyrion kicked hard, urging Rhaegal into a hard right turn.

He slipped then, his fingers grasping for Rhaegal's spine, but unable to find his grip due to the slick Wildfire. Rhaegal roared as his rider fell from his back, but it was too late. Tyrion watched the dragon rise into the air, his arms outstretched as though he could still regain his grip.

He landed hard, the air knocked from his lungs. His back absorbed most of the impact, but his side seemed to split in two. Before he could gather himself enough to climb to his feet, he was surrounded by the King's Guard. The tip of a sword pierced his neck, holding him in place.

Above his head, the Queen circled and Tyrion felt pride surge through him. The archers had been destroyed. They could not set her ablaze and the catapults could no longer threaten her fleet, even though they'd have to wait for the wildfire in the sea to burn out after the arrows intended for the Queen had set it aflame. He had done his job.

"Get him to his feet! Now! The Queen wants him."

Tyrion was hauled away by the King's Guard. He heard Daenerys scream his name, but knew she could not land. Drogon could not breathe fire while Tyrion was covered in Wildfire, nor while the remaining Wildfire bombs littered the ground. She needed her army, which was still held back by the wall of Wildfire flames. She could not help him.

 _Still,_ he thought, _I will not die today._

XXXX

He was thrown to the floor in front of Cersei, his clothes covered in a mix of Wildfire and blood from the wound on his side. Slowly and with much effort, he rose to his feet, only to be kicked back down by a soldier.

In front of him, Cersei sat on the Iron Throne. Jamie stood off to the side, his hand on the pommel of his sword.

"I can't tell you how much it pleases me to see you," Cersei said.

Her lips were pressed together in a gleeful smirk. Tyrion cocked his head to the side, examining her. Her once flowing hair was cut short and only served to emphasize the hardness of her features. The crown atop of her head fit her well and accentuated the highlights in her hair. Her dress clung to her form, buttoned all the way to the chin with long sleeves. The dark fabric of her dress was adorned with gold and ruby embellishments. She looked every bit the Mad Queen.

Tyrion rose to his feet once more, grateful that he was not kicked back down this time. He brushed himself off, noting the small puddle of Wildfire beneath his feet.

"I imagine, dear sister, that you've anticipated my return for quite some time now. Though, I have to say, I hope I exceeded your expectations. I, myself, am rather impressed by my entrance on dragonback."

Cersei's smirk grew into a grin and she inclined her head.

"Yes, I must admit, I hadn't expected that. I thought you might be bold enough to come here with an army of savages or something of the like, but the dragon – quite the show."

Tyrion glanced around the room, taking in his surroundings, counting the familiar faces and the members of the King's Guard whom he'd once known. His eyes landed on a child not far away holding a tray with wine.

"Ah, you there, boy! I've had a long and exciting trip here. I find myself rather parched."

The boy looked to the throne, eyes wide and jaw hanging open. Cersei chuckled and nodded once. The child hurried to Tyrion and poured a cup of wine with shaking hands. Tyrion watched him, afraid for him. He wished he could tell the child to run, but there was no use in it. He took the cup and thanked the child.

His eyes met Jamie's and lingered there for a moment. His brother's face was aged far beyond his years; his eyes weary and his cheeks gaunt. Tyrion's heart ached for him.

"Tyrion Lannister," Cersei said and Tyrion took a deep swallow of the wine, nearly draining the cup. "For the crimes of treason, the murder of King Joffrey, Tywin Lannister, the subsequent deaths of King Tommen and Queen Margery, for your betrayal to the crown and House Lannister, and for the deaths of the Queen's soldiers today, you have been sentenced to death."

Tyrion nodded slowly, absorbing his sister's words.

"Hmm," he said, "I've been quite the busy little bee, haven't I? Though, I have killed none of the Queen's soldiers, I'm happy to say. You see, the true Queen will be here soon with her soldiers at her side."

"Do you think I would make it that easy? Do you think I would allow a Dothraki whore to even set foot into the Red Keep?"

Tyrion's body stiffened at the word "whore" though he showed no reaction to Cersei. He knew she had relied mainly on Wildfire as her defense and he had hoped that would no longer be as effective as planned. Her army was massive, he knew, but she also underestimated the power of Daenerys's army. That was her mistake – not knowing her enemy.

"So how is it I'm to die, sister? Torture? Shall you have my head crushed in like Oberyn Martell's? Am I to duel with someone? Jamie, perhaps?" He glanced at Jamie, who looked deeply pained at the mere thought. "By fire? Oh, how about death by impact? You could throw me from a window. I hear that's a popular way to go lately."

Cersei's smirk tightened, hatred contorting her features all the more.

"Oh, by the way, how exactly is it that I'm responsible for Tommen's death? I understand it to be suicide thanks to the murder of his wife and the destruction of the Faith of the Seven."

"If you hadn't poisoned Joffrey and murdered our father, he would not have been named King in the first place and the Faith of the Seven wouldn't have gotten their claws into him."

"Ah," Tyrion said. "I keep forgetting about the poison."

Tyrion knew there was no point in claiming his innocence. In Cersei's mind, he was the root of all evil and all deaths, including that of their mother, was his fault.

"Well, let's get on with it then. Have you decided yet how I'll die?"

Cersei rose from the throne and descended the steps until she stood in front of him. She stared down at him, hatred and disgust etched across her face.

"You will die," she said, "the same way you killed our mother; from the inside out. I'll start by cutting you open from groin to neck. I will carve my name into your organs while the blood drains from your body. I will watch the life leave your eyes and then I will have your head on a spike posted at the gates of King's Landing. I will have your body thrown outside the gates to rot until the animals drag you away, tearing your limbs from your body as they do."

Tyrion felt a chill settle over him. He imagined himself dying this way, his body discarded and torn apart. It was a horror he still hoped to avoid. He had something worth living for now, after all.

He opened his mouth to rebuff her with whatever pithy remark he could muster, but the doors to the Red Keep flew open and the Unsullied filed in, instantly challenging Cersei's soldiers. He felt Cersei grab him, pulling him back, a knife held to his throat. Still, he watched as the Dothraki charged in behind the Unsullied and cut a path through Cersei's men. Behind them, Daenerys entered the Throne Room, flanked by Grey Worm and Varys.

His Queen's eyes burned with rage. Her white dress was stained with the green glow of dried Wildfire.

"You will release him," she commanded, eliciting laughter from Cersei.

"This is the child I've been hearing so much about?" Cersei glanced back over her shoulder, Tyrion could only assume, to Jamie. "She's much shorter than I expected."

The knife held to his throat bit into his neck and Tyrion felt a trickle of blood drip down his skin. Daenerys moved forward at the sight and Cersei took several steps back, dragging Tyrion with her. She stopped suddenly and Tyrion saw her take hold of a nearby torch. Tyrion froze. Cersei released him and stepped back, her arm outstretched, holding the torch inches from his body.

"Looks like you may burn after all, little brother." Cersei hissed the words and smirked at Daenerys. For the first time this day, Tyrion let go of the belief that he would live to see Daenerys take the throne. She would take it, of course, and that was all that mattered.

He met Daenerys's eyes and smiled sadly. She looked beautiful in all her intensity.

"My Queen," he said, and Cersei waved the torch slightly, threatening him with it. "He put his hand up, but continued with caution. "It has been my honor."

"How touching," Cersei said.

And then he was falling. A sword pierced Cersei, driven through her back and out her chest. Jamie pulled his sword from her body and caught her as she fell. As though in slow motion, Tyrion hit the ground and the torch followed, rolling toward him and the puddle of Wildfire he had landed in.

And then she was there. Daenerys kicked the torch away from him, but not before a stray flame ignited the drying Wildfire on her dress. She went up in green flame and Tyrion's vocal cords tore from the force of his screams. He reached for her, but Jamie caught him, pulling him away. He watched as his Queen was engulfed. Grey Worm ran forward seeking to smother the flames, but the curtain he held only went up in smoke, burning his hands along with it. Still, she burned.

Dothraki warriors brought more curtains, the Unsullied attempted to use their shields to stifle the flames, yet they burned on. Tyrion kicked against his brother, trying to run to his Queen. He watched in horror as every attempt to extinguish the Queen failed.

Just as Tyrion collapsed, falling to his knees, sobs suffocating him, the flames burnt out.

Daenerys stood naked in front of them, her dress gone and the wildfire on her hair and skin burnt away. A portion of her hair was singed and charred. Her skin was angry and pink, but she stood, staring at him, only a slight grimace of pain on her face.

Varys moved to cover her up, the contact causing her to wince. She pushed the cloak away as Tyrion found his footing and stumbled toward her.

They made no sounds, though a lifetime of words passed silently between them. Daenerys's eyes swept over him, looking for wounds and burns. Lingering only briefly on the blood soaking through his clothes from the wound on his side. Her eyes met his and she nodded before passing him.

She strolled proudly and silently, her naked body on display for all to see, to the Iron Throne. She lowered herself on to it, her expression showing no evidence of pain of discomfort. Tyrion followed her and stood behind her, looking out at their shocked audience. Absolute silence fell and all eyes were on Daenerys.

"I know proclaim Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, the Unburnt, Queen of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains, Mother of Dragons, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. Long may she reign."

Tyrion lowered himself to his knee in front of his Queen, his words _'Long may she reign'_ echoed by all those in the room. When he rose, he turned to find every person in the room, whether a Westerosi or Daenerys's army, kneeled in front of her, their heads bowed.

XXXX

Tyrion sat in a chair beside the bath, watching his Queen soak her sensitive skin in milk. He had feared her skin would blister and he found it hot to touch, yet the angry pink color had already begun to fade mere hours after the incident in the Throne Room. His side had once again been stitched and dressed, the superficial cut on his throat had been cleaned and he had bathed, cleansing himself of the Wildfire.

"What would you have me do with him?" Daenerys's head rolled along the back of the bathtub and her eyes met his. "He killed my father, Tyrion."

"He did, indeed. He murdered the Mad King and he murdered the Mad Queen. Somehow, my brother has managed to earn himself the title of both Kingslayer and Queenslayer."

"What would you have me do with him?" She asked again, sitting up in the bath.

"I… I don't know." Tyrion sighed and rose from the chair, pacing beside the tub. "He saved my life. He acted with honor, despite the dishonor he had already brought upon himself and our House."

He also didn't know where Jamie's loyalties could possibly lie after all of this. He wasn't even sure Jamie cared anymore. Perhaps the most Tyrion could hope for was he wouldn't follow Tommen out a window, never mind him being restored to any sort of standing at all.

"For the time being, he will not leave his chambers. He will not have visitors, unless I have approved it. He will not send ravens or converse with his guards or anyone else. When we have a plan, and only when I am prepared to deal with him, we will bring him before us."

Daenerys sat back once more, reaching for Tyrion's hand as she did. He stopped pacing and placed his hand in hers.

"You're the exception, you know. You may see him whenever you'd like."

Tyrion inclined his head slightly and stepped forward, leaning against the tub.

"How do you feel?" He dipped his cup into the milk and used it to pour some over her inflamed shoulders. The milk slid down her shoulders and over her breasts and he repeated the action.

"Better," she said and smiled at him. "My Hand has been tending to my wounds."

Tyrion smirked and nodded.

"You saved my life," he said, simply.

"Should a Queen watch her King burn?"

Tyrion met her eyes, his movements ceasing. Her eyes shone with affection and sincerity.

"You know I have no interest in being a King. I only want to serve as your Hand, nothing more."

She laughed, the sweet sound echoing throughout the room.

"You may call yourself whatever you'd like, Tyrion Lannister, but you are my King."

"And you my Queen."

A knock sounded from the door and Daenerys granted permission to enter, still holding Tyrion's hand from the bath. He began to move away, but she held onto him tighter still. Missandei entered carrying fresh linens and changing clothes for the Queen. She glanced at Tyrion before setting her eyes on the Queen. She smiled and stepped forward, setting the items on the chair Tyrion had occupied.

"Thank you, Missandei," Daenerys said.

"Your Grace," she replied and began to retreat to the door.

"Missandei," Daenerys called after her. "Grey Worm's hands?"

"Better, Your Grace. We soaked them in milk and honey and wrapped them. He refused milk of the poppy, but that's to be expected, I suppose."

Daenerys nodded and sat up, releasing Tyrion's hand as she stood up in the tub. Tyrion made to turn away but she pointed to the linens behind him as she stepped onto the stone floor. He handed her the robe and watched as she pulled it over her shoulders and cinched the ties together. Missandei stood nearby, her features etched with confusion.

"I will dress and then I'd like to see each of the wounded. Lord Tyrion will accompany me. Please let them know to expect me."

"Yes, Your Grace."

Missandei left the room and Tyrion turned, setting his sights on the Queen.

"You must stop giving them reason to wonder about us," he said.

"Must I?" Daenerys responded, smiling at him as she began to brush out her frayed hair. Amusement lit her features and Tyrion realized she was pushing to see how far she could take her antics.

"Brazen woman," he muttered and left the room. Varys stood expectantly outside the door, arms folded across his chest. He raised an eyebrow at Tyrion and stepped forward, falling into step beside him.

"I hear our Queen's skin is much improved," he said.

"I imagine that's not all you hear, Varys."

"No, I suppose it's not."

"Well keep it to yourself if you know what's good for you."

Varys laughed and bowed his head, following Tyrion to his chambers.

XXXX

Nearly two hours later, Daenerys and Tyrion returned to her chambers after checking on the wounded. They had lost so few men, Tyrion couldn't help but wonder what Cersei had meant when she'd alluded to having a plan in place to stop Daenerys from reaching the Red Keep. Whatever it had been, it obviously hadn't gone the way she'd intended.

Tyrion opened the door, holding it for the Queen as she passed him. She donned a golden dress lined with crimson. Her hair was pulled back and braided into a single braid running down her back. She did not wear a crown and Tyrion doubted she ever would. She didn't need one.

He stood back, leaning against the doorframe until Daenerys realized he wasn't following her. She paused and turned, looking at him expectantly.

"What are you doing?"

Tyrion shrugged and said nothing.

"Come in," she said, waving her hand at the open room. Still, he leaned against the frame watching her. She raised and eyebrow and folded her arms over her chest. "What?"

"You told the Unsullied we were retiring to our room for the evening when you bid them goodnight."

"Did I?"

"Mm," he said.

"Well, what should I have said?"

Tyrion groaned, tapping his forehead on the doorframe.

"We discussed this. It's too soon to give anyone reason to think I am anything more than just your Hand. Think of the reactions from House Tyrell and Martell. The Westerosi would have an even harder time backing a foreign Queen with a disgraced imp for a lover."

Daenerys stepped forward, stopping in front of him. Her eyes softened and she put her hand on the side of his face.

"You are hardly disgraced and your stature has nothing to do with – "

"It has everything to do with it. Imagine it; alas, Westeros has a Queen they might actually want ruling over them. She won't live forever, despite the hope that she would. She'll need an heir; a child she can raise with her vision of what a proper ruler should be. Should they be asked to imagine an imp siring that heir? Do you think that would go over well?"

Daenerys's expression darkened and she turned away, striding into the room. She stopped on the far side, staring out the very window Tommen had flung himself from. She looked down at the city below while Tyrion remained at her back.

"I will not have an heir," she said. "I will choose my successor. I'm the Queen; I can make it so."

"Yes, you can, but without a blood tie, the claim to the throne will be contested. Whomever you choose will face the chance of having the throne stole from under them. A Queen, just the same as a King, must have an heir."

Daenerys glanced back at him over her shoulder, her face obscured by shadow.

"I will not bare children, Tyrion. Not yours or anyone else's."

Tyrion entered the room and closed the door behind him, crossing the room to stand behind his Queen.

"I trusted a witch and she murdered my husband and child and cursed me so that I never feel a child grow within me again."

She turned and met his eyes, tears glistening her cheeks.

"So it really doesn't matter, Tyrion, what the people think. They'll never have a proper heir, anyway."

"Who told you this?" Tyrion asked. "The witch? Don't you think that if she wanted to hurt you, if she wanted to make sure you never felt love and joy again, she would make you believe you're barren? Do you think she'd want you to have hope that you could replace that child with another?"

"I could never replace that child. He would have been the Stallion that Mounted the World."

"Even so," Tyrion said, taking her hand. "You were betrayed by this witch, so why would you believe anything she said?"

Daenerys turned and looked out the window again. Her voice unsteady as she spoke.

"Because I am dead inside. My child died within my womb and left me cold and rotting."

"Daenerys," Tyrion said, pulling her away from the window. "My mother died giving birth to me. I should have died with her, yet the gods saw fit to give me life. There is nothing cold and dead about you and if the gods will it so, you will have a child again. There is nothing about the Mother of Dragons that is anything less than perfect. Do you think, Your Grace, that you can survive being set aflame by Wildfire, yet your body is so weak it cannot heal itself? Do not count yourself out just yet, Daenerys Stormborn. I rather believe you will give Westeros another Queen who is just as fierce and captivating as her mother."

Daenerys stared down at him, her features softening as she looked into his eyes. She would not allow herself to believe his words, he could see, but perhaps with time she would begin to hope.

XXXX

Her hand stroked the side of his face, drawing him from his deep slumber. She smiled and rested her hand on his bare chest as his eyes fluttered open. Her skin, he noticed, had completely returned to its porcelain perfection. Tyrion discovered he found another depth of rich color in her eyes each time he held her this close. She leaned over him, propped up on her elbow. Her hair created a curtain around them as her face dipped, capturing his lips with hers.

He returned her affections, his hand sliding up her bare back leaving a trail of goose bumps in its wake.

Daenerys drew back from him, her eyes closed. She bit her lip gently, immediately making Tyrion desire to take her lip between his teeth. She sighed contentedly as he continued stroking her back.

"Your touch, my Lord…" she said, trailing off.

He leaned up, planting a kiss on her shoulder. "Does it suit you?"

"It does," she replied and captured his lips once more.

Tyrion felt a stirring in his loins, feeling the thrum of racing blood growing into a steady pulse. He groaned into her mouth and her lips spread into a smile. Her hand trailed down his bare body until she found him hard and wanting. He took her lip between his teeth, causing her to gasp and she gripped him tighter. He pushed her onto her back, their tongues stroking one another as her hand stroked him. He settled himself on top of her, breaking the kiss as he sat up to align himself properly.

And then he was inside her. She moaned and gripped the blankets with both hands, her head rolling back at the feel of him. Tyrion gripped her thighs, pulling her body closer as he pressed forward. He leaned down, kissing her stomach as he pumped himself into her, grinding deep and hard. Dany cried out, clutching the bedding tighter.

"Don't stop," she moaned, meeting his eyes.

A groan tore from his throat and he bit down gently on the soft skin below her belly button. Her back arched and he put his hand on the bed, holding himself up as he watched her writhe beneath him.

A hard knock sounded from the door, _Not Missandei_ , Tyrion's mind noted. Tyrion began to slow and Dany grabbed his face, holding his eyes on hers as she moved her hips, encouraging him on.

"Stay with me," she whispered. She rolled them so she was straddling him, her hands on his chest as she lifted her hips off his, only to slam back down again. They cried out simultaneously at the feeling and Tyrion watched as she rode him, her breasts bouncing with each movement. "Touch me," she moaned. Tyrion's hands moved from her thighs up her body, greedily taking in her form with his hands.

She leaned back on him, rocking her hips slowly as she raised her hands, gripping her own hair. Her eyes closed and Tyrion watched as she lost herself in the moment. He was dangerously close to falling over the edge. He told her as such and she moaned louder, as though his words would be her undoing.

He spoke to her, his voice course and strained from pleasure. He described the way her body looked from his view; the way it moved on his. The contrast of her ivory skin against his dark pubic hair, her creamy thighs gripping him tightly. He told her how her nipples jutted out as her breasts bounced, full and firm. He told her how much he desired her and how his body seemed to be burning from the inside out – his need for her overwhelming.

Dany cried out suddenly and stopped moving, holding herself on top of him as he felt her muscles spasm around him. She bent and kissed him just as he reached his peak, pouring himself into her.

Their bodies trembled against one another in the early morning sunlight. Tyrion breathed her in and she kissed his chest as slid off his body, collapsing at his side.

Tyrion whispered a thanks to the old gods and the new, any who may be listening, for allowing him to know love once more.

XXXX

The throne room, Tyrion realized, seemed much smaller now that he was standing in it of his own accord beside a ruler he actually respected.

Varys stood a few feet away, talking with the Queen as she sat on the Iron Throne. He kept trying to feed the Queen information about the Houses of Westeros and the Lords who now ruled them, but Daenerys kept cutting him off, finishing his sentences for him. It gave Tyrion more enjoyment than he would ever admit to Varys.

"Your Majesty has retained more of the information provided by her Hand than I thought possible," Varys said, inclining his head respectfully.

"So I have," she said, amusement drawn across her own lips.

Tyrion raised his cup, the bold Westerosi wine washing over his tongue. He was just about to refill it when the door opened and Missandei and Grey Worm entered.

"Riders from the North, Your Grace. They carry Stark banners."

Grey Worm came to a stop in front of the Queen but Missandei passed him, moving to the window overlooking the Keep. Tyrion followed her and looked down to see a dozen or so riders, indeed waving the Stark sigil, nearing. Tyrion's heart clenched as his eyes fell upon Sansa Stark.

"I'd recognize that red hair anywhere," he said and excused himself from the room, moving quickly for the gates.

They had already climbed down from their horses by the time Tyrion reached them. Though his eyes were mainly fixed to Sansa, he took note of her companions – Brienne of Tarth, whom Tyrion had heard a great deal about, and Petyr Baelish. He suspected the other riders were a mix of Nights of the Vale and Northerners.

"Sansa," he breathed. She startled him, he found. Her face was rigid, her eyes dark and solemn. The child he'd once known, even the careful young lady she'd grown into, was gone. In her place stood a battle hardened woman.

She closed the distance between them, the others hanging back, and stopped in front of him. Her eyes softened and the corners of her lips turned upward some, lighting her face.

"Tyrion."

They met suddenly in an embrace, Sansa swooping to his height.

"I'm glad to see you alive," she whispered before drawing away.

"And I, you, My Lady."

"We received a raven," she said as they turned to walk inside, "from the Iron Islands that said their fleet had met yours and told of the outcome. I set out for King's Landing the next day. I knew you'd land soon and a new Queen would sit on the throne."

Tyrion now understood how she had arrived so quickly when the journey from the North was so long. They hadn't even had a chance yet to prepare to journey North.

"I was sorry to hear about your marriage to Ramsay Bolton," Tyrion said, throwing a knowing look over his shoulder at Littlefinger. "I had hoped you'd be safe in the Vale. Had I known it would have led to your – "

"I survived," she said, staring ahead.

"So you did," he said. "And you took back Winterfell in your father's name. He'd be proud."

They walked slowly and silently up the steps to the Keep. Her soldiers fell back, lining the sides of the steps, undoubtedly told in advance that there would be no cause for them to enter the Throne Room. That pleased Tyrion.

They entered the Throne Room side by side, Brienne and Littlefinger at their backs. Daenerys sat on the throne, watching as they approached. Her eyes moved from Tyrion to Sansa, studying the northern girl with intensity. They stopped in front of the throne and Tyrion took Sansa's hand in his, patting it gently. She nodded in reply and Tyrion took his place behind the Queen.

Tyrion watched as Sansa lowered herself to one knee, bowing her head before the Queen. Her red hair fell forward over her shoulders. Behind her, Brienne and Littlefinger did the same.

"Lady Stark," Daenerys said and they rose.

"Your Grace, thank you for receiving us. With me are Brienne of Tarth and Petyr Baelish. I'm sure Varys has already told you of their connection to the Stark family."

Daenerys nodded and Tyrion glanced at Varys who had the same apprehensive expression Tyrion had when he'd lain eyes on Littlefinger.

"I believe you already know who I am," Daenerys said, "but allow me to introduce you to my advisors. Grey Worm, Commander of the Unsullied." Grey Worm stepped out to the side, arms clasped behind his back, and then drew his leg back in quickly, greeting Sansa in a soldier's way. "Beside him stands my interpreter, Missandei." Missandei bowed gracefully and Sansa returned the gesture.

Daenerys turned to her right, motioning to where Varys and Tyrion stood.

"I believe you know Varys, a man who needs no introduction. And, of course, the Hand of the Queen, Tyrion Lannister."

Varys and Tyrion bowed at the same time and Sansa returned the gesture, giving Tyrion a knowing smile as her eyes darted to the pin on his chest.

"Your brother does not join you?"

"No, Your Grace. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell and Jon is preparing for Winter. I was eager to see with my own eyes that Cersei no longer sat on the throne and I know King's Landing quite a bit better than Jon does."

"Do you speak on his behalf?"

"I speak on behalf of the North, Your Grace."

"Very well," Daenerys said, rising from the throne. "You've traveled a long way and do not appear to intend me harm. Would you prefer to rest and talk another day?"

"No, Your Grace."

Daenerys descended the steps, stopping in front of Sansa. Tyrion watched from behind as the two women stood tall and proud, the Dragon and the Wolf.

"Varys," Daenerys said, turning to him. "Please show Lord Baelish to a room in the guests' quarters. See to it he has everything he may need for a comfortable stay. And then post two guards outside his door."

Littlefinger's eyes flickered to Sansa's and she gave no indication of dissent, so he simply bowed and follow Varys from the room. When they were gone, Daenerys smiled at Sansa, running a finger over the fur collar of her cloak.

"You're not what I expected, Lady Stark."

"Your Grace?"

Daenerys turned and walked back to the throne, taking her seat. Tyrion met her eyes, curiosity filling him. She looked away once more.

"I'd like to offer my condolences for the murder of your father. I understand he was a good man and worked to keep me safe when Robert Baratheon set to murdering me. I would have liked to have met him."

"Thank you, Your Grace."

"Your brother currently calls himself King in the North –"

"He does not, Your Grace. That is what he is called, though he protests. Jon has no interest in being a King. He only sought to reclaim our home and restore peace to the North. Now he and his advisors prepare for the battle they say winter brings."

Tyrion stepped forward, even more confused now than he was before.

"My Lady, how is it he both is and isn't King in the North?"

"When Lyanna Mormont claims you King in front of the most honorable Houses in the North, it's a bit hard to argue. She's quite persuasive."

"She's a child!" Tyrion laughed but stilled when he saw Sansa's expression.

"Need I remind you that appearances are not an indication of capability or cunning, My Hand?"

Daenerys's eyes held Tyrion's and he felt himself flush from embarrassment. She was right, of course, and the thinly veiled reference to his own state was not missed. She smirked when Tyrion gave no reply and turned her attention back to Sansa.

"Very well. You speak for the North. What is it the North would see happen now?"

"We have no interest in the Iron Throne, Your Grace. We took back our home and that's all we want. We'd ask to keep our home and a military leader all the northern Houses may pledge loyalty to in the battle with the White Walkers. Jon would be that leader. However," Sansa's glanced at Tyrion and he felt himself stand taller. "He would name me Queen of the North in his place."

Silence fell between the two women as Tyrion considered the request. Daenerys had already promised the Iron Islands to Yara Greyjoy and now the Starks looked to rule the North. Not that he didn't trust Sansa or believed it would be a failure, but he had concerns about granting so much independence so quickly.

"I should like to discuss your request with my Hand and the Small Council. You are my guest here for as long as you wish to stay." Daenerys glanced toward Missandei and she stepped forward immediately, ready to accompany Sansa and Brienne to their rooms. "Grey Worm will see that your men are housed and fed."

"Thank you, Your Grace." Sansa bowed and turned with Missandei to leave, Brienne at her side. She glanced back over her shoulder and gave Tyrion a soft smile and then she was gone. The Queen turned her attention to Tyrion, her expression unreadable.

"I understood your marriage to be arranged by your father, yet it appears there is more affection between you and Sansa Stark than I thought."

Tyrion's jaw dropped and he looked from Daenerys to the door Sansa had exited through, then back at his Queen. He quickly replayed their interactions in his head. It all seemed normal to him, given the situation and their histories.

"No more than that of old friends."

"Mm," the Queen said and glided to the window Tyrion had first spotted Sansa from. "She embraced you. Her eyes searched for yours on more than one occasion while standing before me and, of course, _you'd recognize her red hair anywhere._ "

 _She truly is jealous. But why?_ Tyrion studied the Queen and then strode forward, taking her hand in his.

"Perhaps you mistake comfortable understanding for affection, my Queen."

Daenerys stared down at him for a moment and then shook her head quickly, as though shaking the thoughts from her head. She stepped past him, walking from the Throne Room. Tyrion followed quickly.

"Her request. What are your thoughts?"

"I have my reservations, Your Grace. Namely, as I pointed out when you were petitioned by Yara and Theon Greyjoy – the more independence you grant, the more Houses will seek it until all of Westeros is divided, rather than brought together under your rule, your command, your standards."

"As I said then, they all may ask. That doesn't mean I'll grant independence to every House that asks."

"If you choose to grant their request, I would recommend a set of laws, common to all Seven Kingdoms, which must be obeyed. Beyond that, allow the Houses to decide for themselves how to live. As long as they all answer to one Queen, her rules and the repercussions she chooses, peace may be attainable."

They walked along the corridors of the castle, passing soldiers, handmaidens, and others as they went. Each one bowed as they passed and watched the Queen in awe. They'd never quite seen anything like the Dragon Queen before.

"Have you seen your brother yet?" Daenerys asked, looking down at Tyrion.

He shook his head and glanced out the nearest window at the setting sun.

"I had planned to do so today, but did not expect the arrival of our guests. I will visit him tonight if my Queen permits."

Daenerys nodded and turned to face him as they reached her quarters.

"I think I'd like to have him dine with us tonight. We'll take our meal alone a quarter hour after sunset. I'll have Missandei visit the kitchens to arrange it."

"I'll bring the wine," Tyrion said, grinning.

XXXX

Jamie's room was lit only by a single candle on the desk near the door. Tyrion closed the door and scanned the room, deciding the lump he saw in the bed must be his brother. He set his lamp down on the desk, raising the wick so it burned a bit brighter, and sauntered over to his brother's bed. Jamie was awake, eyes staring into the nothingness above him. Tyrion was very familiar with that feeling, though he hadn't done so since taking the Queen's bed.

"I'd ask how you are," Tyrion began, "but it seems an empty gesture at this point."

"How I am," Jamie said, sitting up in the bed. "I'm being held prisoner in the same room I bedded Cersei in. I can still smell her blood and feel the weight of her body as her life drained out of her. I can still hear her last, strangled exhale."

"You saved my life," Tyrion said simply.

Jamie met his eyes and smiled sadly.

"I should have killed her the day I returned to find the Sept burnt to the ground and my son dead. I should have killed her when I heard the screams rising from the green ashes. I should have driven my sword through her back while she sat on that damn throne she wanted more than anything else. If I had, I wouldn't have needed to save your life."

The sat quietly in the semi-lit room. The shadows emphasized the depth of Jamie's gaunt cheeks and the stubble on his unshaven chin. Tyrion hardly recognized his brother. He looked nothing like the 'handsome son' of the family.

"She went mad, Tyrion. I don't know exactly when it happened. She'd always been very… Calculating," Jamie said. "But this…"

"You couldn't have known she'd go this far. Despite who she was, this –"

"Was horrific." Jamie finished.

Tyrion nodded and took a deep breath after a moment had passed.

"I rode a dragon," Tyrion said, suddenly.

Jamie looked up quickly, a hint of a smile filling his features.

"How?"

"With a great amount of fear and strain on my thighs, I assure you."

Jamie laughed and ran a hand over his face.

"I would have liked to have seen that." He smiled once more and then seriousness colored his features once more. "How much longer will I be allowed to live?"

Tyrion put his hand on his brother's arm, just above the golden hand sticking out from under his robes.

"I believe you will have a long life, my dear brother, as long as you want it."

"How?" Jamie asked, rising from the bed. "I'm not only a Kingslayer, I'm now a Queenslayer."

"Of a Queen who butchered hundreds and proclaimed herself Queen while her son's body lay forgotten just yards away."

Jamie cringed and Tyrion felt a pang of regret for not choosing his words better. He paused and began again, taking his time.

"You killed the Mad King to save the lives of countless innocents. You killed the Mad Queen to save my life and likely thousands more. You acted with honor, even if the acts themselves are inherently dishonorable. I'm quite proud to be your brother today, Jamie. This day and many before."

"But not all," Jamie noted.

"Not all," Tyrion agreed. "Honor hasn't always been your priority. Anyway, you're the brother of the Hand of the Queen. I believe that counts for something."

Jamie said nothing, standing beside the bed, his hand resting on the edge of the bed. Tyrion suddenly wished he'd brought a carafe or three of wine. Which reminded him…

"The Queen has requested you join us for dinner this evening."

Jamie stared at Tyrion, eyebrow raised.

"She wishes to dine with a Lannister?"

"She dines with one each night," Tyrion said and instantly wished he'd chosen his words a little better. Jamie frowned and then his eyes landed on the pin fixed to Tyrion's chest. His features cleared, understanding dawning upon him.

"I'll ready myself. I'm rather interested in meeting this Mother of Dragons."

XXXX

Jamie and Tyrion sat at the feast table, Tyrion already draining his second cup of wine, when Daenerys entered the room. They rose at the same time, Tyrion bowing while Jamie took a knee in front of her. Daenerys stared down at Jamie. Her expression was unreadable.

"Rise," she said, and Jamie did. "Please, sit." She gestured to the table and took her place at the head of it. Tyrion and Jamie sat across from one another and exchanged glances before the kitchen workers brought in several plates of food.

"Thank you for the invitation to dine with you, Your Grace."

"I'm pleased you accepted it," Daenerys said, taking a swallow of her wine. "I thought it best," she said, "that we meet before any decisions are made regarding your future here."

The three of them ate in silence for a moment before Daenerys cleared her throat and set down her cup. Her eyes fell on Jamie and they stared at one another.

"I don't know quite what to do with you," she said. "For obvious reasons, I cannot trust you. Your previous role as member of the King's Guard is one you cannot hold again. You are hated among the people, yet you have also proved yourself to have _some_ honor."

Jamie said nothing in return; made no effort to defend himself or offer a solution. Neither did Tyrion, for he did not have one that would not be influenced by sibling bias.

"I rather feel I should banish you," she continued, "yet I don't know where to send you that would not see you murdered upon arrival. So, tell me, what should I do with you? Do I offer you my protection? You did save my Hand, after all. For that I'll be forever in your debt."

Still, Jamie said nothing. Tyrion refilled his wine cup and settled into his chair. Moments passed before Daenerys spoke again.

"You are confined to King's Landing and, should you leave the Keep, must always be accompanied by a member of my Council, or another appointed advisor. You will not carry a sword. You will not mount a horse. You will return to the Keep by nightfall. Any deviation from these terms I have laid out and I will hand you over to the Tyrells and the Martells to fight over who gets to dismember you first. Are my terms acceptable?"

Tyrion's mouth hung open, cup raised to his lips mid-drink. He stared at Jamie, his mind scrambling to understand what this meant for his brother's future.

Finally, Jamie nodded. "They are. Thank you for your leniency, Your Grace. I'm not sure I deserve it."

"You don't," Daenerys said and reached across, refilling Tyrion's cup. "And I would not grant it had you not saved Tyrion's life."

Jamie's eyes slid to Tyrion's and he looked between the two of them before setting his eyes upon his plate once more. He picked up his cup and raised it over the center of the table. "A toast," he said, "to our new Queen, long may she reign, and her trusted Hand, may he always be by her side."

Tyrion detected no trace of sarcasm, humor, or anything other than sincerity in his brother's words. He lifted his cup, as did the Queen, and held it against Jamie's. They drank together and then the Queen set her cup down, sliding it away.

"I've never seen a dragon," Jamie said suddenly. "I hear my brother made quite the return to Westeros upon the back of one. I would have liked to have seen that. Perhaps, if it pleases Your Grace, I might be witness to their next flight."

Daenerys smiled at Tyrion, her eyes thoughtful.

"It was rather surprising, to tell it true. Seeing him on the back of Rhaegal when I've never even seen someone get within reach of him before."

"Well, you know what they say; animals can sense something in us that we cannot sense in one another. Decency, courage, loyalty… My brother exudes all of these things."

"That he does," Daenerys said. Her features softened as she stared at Tyrion and her hand reached out, seeking his. Tyrion nearly took it and then remembered they were not alone. He cleared his throat and sat up, filling the Queen's hand with her cup. She took it, her lips drawing into a hard line before she took a swallow from the cup.

They finished dinner together, Jamie filling them in on all that had transpired in King's Landing since Tyrion had fled. He told them what he knew of Jon Snow's armies, the rumors of White Walkers and the Night's King, and recounted the days after Cersei took the Iron Throne. He cycled between cracking the occasional joke and falling silent, a shadow passing over his face, as he remembered the reality of the situation.

When dinner was over and they'd heard all Jamie had to say, he and Tyrion prepared to leave the room until Daenerys stopped them.

"Finish the night confined to the Keep. Tomorrow I'll brief the Small Council on our decision and we can work out a system to ensure you have someone with you at all times. This is for your safety in King's Landing, as well as my peace of mind."

Jamie nodded his agreement and bowed, giving his farewell.

"Tyrion," Daenerys called after them. "Would you accompany me on a walk after you see your brother back to his room? I'd like to discuss our terms with the North."

"Of course, my Queen."

She nodded as Tyrion and Jamie left the room. They walked in silence through the corridors, passing many on the way who couldn't help but scowl at the Kingslayer. When they reached Jamie's room, Tyrion said goodnight and turned to leave when Jamie called out to him.

"You're fucking the Dragon Queen."

Tyrion nearly tripped over his own feet, catching himself on the wall. He spun around, thankful to see no one was nearby, and set his eyes on his brother.

"Lower your voice!" he hissed, pushing Jamie back into his room. He followed him inside and closed the door behind them.

"Deny it, brother, I dare you." Jamie stood back, arms folded over his chest, grinning at Tyrion. For the first time that night, he looked like Jamie Lannister rather than the ghost of a man he'd been. Tyrion stuttered, waving his arm about as he did. Finally, he sighed and lowered his arm to his side.

"Apparently we were less discrete than I thought."

Jamie burst out laughing and ran his good hand through his hair, spinning around once as he did.

"Gods, I knew you had quite the reputation with the ladies, but I thought that was simply because the whores sought the coin purse in your pants. Perhaps there was something more enticing in your pants all along."

Tyrion groaned and looked around the room for wine, saddened to see there was none.

"How'd you know?" He asked, looking back at his brother.

"She looks at you as though the sun rises and sets according to your say so. Did you think I did not notice her reach for you? Or the way she says your name so informally? And you, dear brother, might as well have taken her right there on the table for the way you watch her while she talks."

"It's new," Tyrion said and leaned back against the wall. "So new I hardly know what it is."

"You love her."

"Thank you for pointing out the obvious. Your wisdom is undeniable."

"And she loves you."

Tyrion took pause and stared at his brother before shaking his head.

"She's fond of me, I don't deny that. Her affections for me are sincere, though for the gods I don't know why. But it hardly matters really."

"Why is that exactly?"

Tyrion stared at his brother, replaying his conversation with Daenerys about her needing a proper heir and the reactions of the people to having a Lannister for their King. His thoughts on it hadn't changed, but for a moment he allowed himself to imagine it: being a father, siring an heir to the throne, sitting beside Daenerys in the Throne Room. He imagined it, and then shook it from his thoughts.

"Because," he said, opening the door. "She deserves better."


	3. Part III

**PART III**

"Your betrayals, schemes, and deceptions are so numerous, I haven't been able to keep them all straight, Lord Baelish. How many times have you stood before the throne and fed false information, outright lied, and plotted for others to fall if it should benefit you? Your betrayal of Eddard Stark, whom I feel a great deal of fondness for, is perhaps only eclipsed by your betrayal of his daughter. You'll plead ignorance, I have no doubt, on every count. You'll claim you did not know of the Ramsey Bolton's penchant for cruelty, though his hunts were famous in all of the Seven Kingdoms. You'll say you had intended to return to Winterfell to free Sansa and name her Warden of the North. You'll say all of these things and more, I'm sure, while attempting to cover up your true intentions: ascending to the throne, by any means necessary."

The Queen rose from her throne and strolled forward, stopping before Littlefinger, who had been thrown to his knees before her. His hands were tied behind his back, his face downcast. Tyrion was thankful this meeting was taking place without Sansa present. To hear the details of the many ways in which he had betrayed her father, her House, and herself… Tyrion wished to save her that pain.

"You've committed several acts of treason against the throne, both directly and indirectly. Your mere presence in this room is an affront to the throne and all those who would serve it."

Daenerys put her fingers under his chin, tilting his head up to force his eyes upon her.

"I should have you executed the same way you watched Eddard Stark murdered. Perhaps I will."

Tyrion had already advised the Queen on how to handle Baelish, with the assistance of Varys who was able to fill in far more blanks than Tyrion would have known possible. The countless lies, plots, and betrayals overwhelmed Tyrion and also served to renew his distrust of Varys. The one thing he was sure of was Baelish was dangerous and could never be trusted, yet was also valuable given his influence on Robin Arryn and, therefore, the Knights of the Vale.

"You will leave King's Landing today. You will return either to the Eyrie or to Winterfell, depending on Sansa Stark's reaction to this information, which Lord Tyrion will give her later. Regardless of where you go, you will never return to King's Landing. You are banished from this place and prohibited from holding any standings or offices for any House. You will not own land. You will not command forces. You will not do anything more than exist."

Petyr Baelish stared up at the Queen, expressionless and void.

"In exchange for my mercy, you will convince Robin Arryn to pledge his allegiance to Sansa Stark and Jon Snow. This will be the last time you will advise a Lord or Lady in any capacity. If I receive word that you have violated these terms, you will be brought before me and publicly executed. Get him up."

Grey Worm and another Unsullied soldier stepped forward, dragging Littlefinger to his feet.

"Do you know," Littlefinger called back over his shoulder as he was dragged away. "What it's like to have nothing, be no one, but strive to be great? Do you know what it takes to climb from the bottom to the top, stepping on whomever you must to get there? I did what I did because I knew I could rule better than they could."

Littlefinger was drug from the room, still looking over his shoulder at the Queen. The doors swung closed behind him and Tyrion stepped forward.

"I need to speak with Sansa before she gets word of this."

Tyrion left the throne room in a hurry, running down the corridors toward Sansa's bedchamber. When he arrived, he was met by Brienne of Tarth, who was just leaving the room. Tyrion bent, winded and short of breath, stuttering his words.

"I need to speak with Lady Stark."

Brienne looked at him as though he were mad, but slowly and cautiously went back into Sansa's quarters. She appeared a moment later with Sansa at her side. Brienne strolled past Tyrion in the direction she had been heading when he'd found her.

"My Lord, are you alright?" Sansa gripped Tyrion by the arm, crouching in front of him. Tyrion took a deep breath, steadying himself and rose to his full height once more.

"We need to speak in private, My Lady."

Sansa pushed the door to her chambers open and Tyrion followed her into the room, immediately filling a cup with wine at the table nearest the door. He took a deep swallow and then turned to face Sansa's curious eyes.

"The Queen has banished Littlefinger. He's being drug from the Keep now. They'll wait outside the gates for your command. He's either to be taken back to Winterfell, if that's where you want him, or to the Eyrie."

"Banished? Why?"

"The list is long, I assure you, but the Queen has deemed him a traitor to the throne and untrustworthy. I quite agree with her decision."

Sansa strolled to her window and looked down, likely looking for Littlefinger, though she would not see him from this angle.

"Lord Baelish has done many vile things," she said, looking back at Tyrion. "But banishment?"

"He betrayed your father, Sansa. He knew of your father's plan to place Stannis, the true heir, on the Iron Throne and acted as though he was a friend. When the moment was right, he put a knife to your father's throat and turned him over to Joffrey and Cersei."

Sansa's face paled and she stumbled back, reaching for the post at the corner of her bed, but missing. Tyrion swept forward, steadying her before she fell.

"We have reason to believe he also used you as leverage in his own plan to become Warden of the North."

"Ramsay," she whispered and Tyrion nodded, his hand still on her arm offering support.

"There was a time," she said, "that I considered aligning myself to him by marriage. He was the only one I felt I could trust when we were in the Eyrie. He was clearly attracted to me and I admit, I became intrigued in him as well. I learned later not to trust him, but I didn't realize the extent –"

"There's no way you could have, My Lady."

Sansa took a deep breath and her expression cleared. She steeled herself, standing up straighter, and Tyrion released her arm.

"Send him back to Winterfell. I'll send Jon a raven. He can't be allowed to go to the Vale on his own. There's no telling what he'll do or what whispers he'll breathe into Robin's ear. At least this way, we'll be able to monitor him."

"The Queen has required that he convince Robin to pledge allegiance to you and Jon, now and in the battle to come."

"He can do so by raven then. I'll not have him set foot outside of my control again. Can you have your forces take him to Winterfell? I fear he may not arrive if escorted only by Knights of the Vale."

Tyrion nodded, deciding he could send a troop of Unsullied led by a Westerosi soldier to show them the way. He turned to leave Sansa's chambers and stopped, turning back to address her.

"I'm sorry. It seems betrayal is all you've ever known from potential suitors."

Sansa smiled sadly and shook her head.

"Not all, Tyrion. I was once married to a man of honor. He took me under his protection and treated me kindly even though it was his right to do otherwise. I think of him, of his kindness, often."

Tyrion stilled, seeing the young, innocent woman he'd once married take the place of the battle hardened woman she'd become. With all his heart he hoped she'd one day find peace. Tyrion bowed and turned, leaving her to her thoughts.

XXXX

Sunlight steamed through the window into the Hand's Study in the Tower of the Hand. Tyrion sat at his desk reviewing the finances, both those of Westeros and House Lannister. He was devastated to see the finances had not been handled well since he'd been Master of Coin. Fortunately, most of the debt was owed to House Lannister, which he was more than capable of forgiving. Still, they needed to become self-sufficient rather than relying on the Lannister fortune as Robert Baratheon, Joffrey, and even Tommen had done.

He groaned and sat back in his chair, running a hand over his face. Exhaustion overwhelmed him suddenly, despite the many nights of improved sleep since they'd arrived in Westeros. The days had been filled with meetings, planning, debates, and countless tours to see the damage done by Cersei and meet the people left behind.

Tyrion's eyes gazed out the window ahead of him, the brilliant blue sky a shade darker than he remembered it being. He allowed his mind to wander, thinking of the last time he'd been in the Tower of the Hand and how much had changed since then. It hadn't escaped him that it was his nameday, each year bringing him closer to the fourth decade of his life. It seemed many did not live much past their 40th nameday of late, which would have given Tyrion only a few more years if he were lucky. Still, he was determined to beat those numbers.

His door cracked open slowly and so quietly he would not have heard it had he still been immersed in the finances. He glanced over to see the Queen poke her head inside the room. Her eyes met his and she groaned.

"I thought you might be sleeping," she said, stepping into the room. She closed the door behind herself and strolled over to his desk. "I was going to rest with you."

Tyrion managed a small smile and shook his head as Daenerys slid onto the desk, pushing his papers aside. She moved so her legs dangled off the desk on either side of him.

"Too much to be done to take a mid-day rest, Your Grace."

Tyrion rested his hands on the Queen's thighs as he laid his head on the back of the chair.

"You look so worn." Daenerys frowned and put her hand on the side of his face, stroking gently. Tyrion felt his eyes close as he leaned into her touch. The warmth from her touch seemed to spread slowly, warming him in the otherwise cold room. Her thumb stroked the scar etched across his cheek and she leaned forward, kissing it gently.

Tyrion opened his eyes and watched as she pulled back, smiling down at him. He was reminded of just how young she was in that moment. He got peeks of it from time to time when they were alone and she allowed herself to relax. Her eyes shone brightly and she bit her lip almost shyly as his eyes explored her face.

"You're breathtaking," Tyrion said quietly.

"You're only saying that because you share my bed."

"True," Tyrion said, smirking. Daenerys gasped in mock offense and leaned forward again, kissing him slowly. Tyrion moved his hands from her thighs and around her back, drawing her nearer. When they separated, the Queen's lips were swollen and red, begging for more.

"Take a walk with me," she said.

"Where?"

"Does it matter? I'd just like to spend some time with you outside of the Keep, not dealing with political matters."

Tyrion frowned, considering it. "The Queen walking with her Hand implies, by its very nature, that we are open to be approached with political dealings."

"Just shut up and walk with me."

Tyrion could hardly argue with his Queen and pushed back from his seat. They walked from the study hand-in-hand and ventured down the vacant corridors of the Tower, taking their time. Just before they reached the entrance to the Tower, where people may be able to spot them, Tyrion kissed Daenerys's hand and released it.

They walked into the warm afternoon air, moving side by side quietly down the path away from the Tower of the Hand. Daenerys glanced down at him and then looked ahead again.

"Someday I'd like to be able to hold your hand in public. I imagine walking through the country side, the city streets, even a garden without having to release your hand save someone spot us."

Tyrion said nothing. He'd thought of it himself, but it was such a bizarre image, even in his own head, that he could not seriously entertain the thought. In fact, every time his mind strayed and imagined their relationship becoming anything more than secret lovers in the night, he had to push the thoughts away for the pure ludicrousness of them.

People moved to and from around them, always pausing to bow as they passed. Daenerys was a kind Queen, Tyrion thought. She always acknowledged those who acknowledged her, whether be it a smile or a nod. So often, King's Landing had seen royalty that kept their heads and eyes raised above those around them.

Before long, Tyrion realized the Queen was leading him out of the city, toward Blackwater Bay. He had not been back to the Bay since the day they'd arrived in Westeros and the sight of the Queen's armada filling the Bay took him aback.

"Did we lose any ships at all?" he asked, looking up at her.

"A few. There were some that tried to cross the wall of Wildfire in their urgency to assist us on the ground. Most of those men were rescued from the waters, but not without injury. The other ships took only superficial damage."

"I should have come sooner to see the damage for myself."

"Not much to see, my Hand. Besides, you've been handling everything else."

Tyrion said nothing as they stopped on the sand, staring out at the sea. Soldiers were stationed on each ship, guarding the fleet in shifts. This much he had thought to do. The last thing they could allow to happen was sabotage to the Queen's fleet.

A sudden roar filled the air above them and Tyrion looked up to see Rhaegal circling, his wings outstretched as he glided toward them.

"I thought we might take a ride," Daenerys said glancing down at him. A playful smirk crossed her lips before she looked upward once more. "To celebrate your nameday, that is."

"How did you—Never mind."

Tyrion should have known Varys would have told the Queen of his nameday. He couldn't decide if he was happy or disappointed. A part of him didn't want to remind Daenerys of the age difference between the two. Another part of him was pleased to be remembered and celebrated with sincerity for once.

Rhaegal swooped suddenly, taking a hard landing on the beach behind them. It was then that Tyrion saw the saddle strapped to the beast's back. He turned, eyes questioning, to face the Queen.

"He's yours now," she said. "I'm still his mother, but you're his rider."

"And how does Rhaegal feel about this?"

At the mention of his name, Rhaegal swung his head in their direction, roaring loudly. He puffed his cheeks and shook his head, his eyes holding Tyrion's.

"Let's just say, it took a bit of convincing," Daenerys said. Tyrion laughed as he felt that may have been an understatement. Still, the great beast stood before him, wing outstretched on the ground so Tyrion might mount him.

"Shall we?" Daenerys held her hand out for Tyrion and, despite the hoards of people gathering on the beach to watch, Tyrion took it. They climbed onto Rhaegal, Tyrion taking his spot in the custom-made saddle while the Queen settled in behind him. Her arms snaked around Tyrion's body, holding onto him tightly as Tyrion dug his heels into Rhaegal's side. They flew into the air suddenly and then they were soaring. Tyrion had never felt so much joy in his life.

Below them, the people of Westeros stopped whatever it was they were doing and watched as the couple circled overhead. Rhaegal couldn't help but breathe fire into the air once or twice, eliciting screams of excitement and awe from below.

They flew for what must have been hours. Tyrion directed them out over the sea, the only place prying eyes couldn't reach, and then back again circling the lands. It was the most exhilarating thing he'd ever done. He hadn't been able to enjoy his first time on dragonback due to the danger he and Daenerys had faced. This time, he took in every moment of it, including the warmth of Daenerys's body pressed against his back.

She spoke into his ear from time to time, asking him to identify a structure below or commenting on the beauty of the lands. Twice she ducked her head and kissed his neck as his hand settled over hers, holding them against his stomach. Tyrion felt alive, more so than he ever had, and realized this was what happiness was meant to feel like. For once, he felt joy without a sense of caution or skepticism.

When they landed, the Bay had nearly cleared as sunset approached. Only the soldiers guarding the fleet and a few Westerosi still remained. The second Dany had jumped to the sand below them, Tyrion grabbed her hand and pulled her against him, her legs pressed to the side of Rhaegal's tail.

He kissed her then, standing on the tail of his dragon, arms wrapped around the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Her fingers tangled in his hair as she kissed him back with just as much abandon, holding him against her. Tyrion felt his heart swell in his chest, making it hard to breathe from all the emotions moving through him. When he finally drew back, she stared up at him as though she'd never seen anything more beautiful than him. It made his throat clench and his stomach flutter from nerves.

And then the clapping began. Slow at first, growing to a steady pace until it filled the air around them. Both their heads swung to the side, spotting Varys, Missandei, and Grey Worm. Beside them stood Jamie. He held his hand to his mouth, his whistle joining the applause of the others. Behind them, across from them, and beside them, several citizens had stopped, eyes wide and mouths hanging open.

Tyrion felt himself flush red-hot instantly. His instinct was to release Dany, push away from her and then high tail it out of there. Instead, knowing it was futile, he stood up a bit straighter and cleared his throat.

"I told you I rode a dragon," he said to Jamie.

"I never doubted you, little brother. I just didn't realize you weren't speaking of the scaled beast you stand upon when you said it."

Tyrion heard Dany inhale sharply and when he looked at her, it was her turn to flush bright pink. Tyrion made a mental note to kill his brother later.

Missandei stifled a giggle behind her hand and then strolled forward, lacing her arm with the Queen's.

"The feast is nearly ready, Your Grace. Shall we change into something more appropriate?"

"Feast?" Tyrion asked, looking from Missandei to Daenerys.

"Your nameday feast," Daenerys said. "And yes, Missandei, we shall."

The turned and walked away, leaving Tyrion standing on Rhaegal, who was starting to huff his impatience. Tyrion jumped down and landed beside him. He patted his side gently and whispered his thanks. Rhaegal shook his head like an indignant adolescent and lifted himself into the air, flying away before Tyrion could say anything else. Tyrion turned, walking to Varys and Jamie.

"We're having a feast," Tyrion said. "In my honor, nonetheless. And I doubt very much this one will end with a murder. Let's go."

Jamie snickered and he and Varys followed Tyrion while Grey Worm conferred with one of the Unsullied guarding the ships.

XXXX

They managed to get through the feast before Varys cornered Tyrion while he refilled his wine, his expression grim and concerned. Tyrion had indulged in several cups already and while he wasn't drunk, he was not sober either.

"Word of your relationship with the Queen has already spread throughout King's Landing. Several ravens have flown as well. We must develop a plan for how to handle the backlash this will bring."

"Plan?" Tyrion rested his hand on the wall, watching the Queen laugh with Jamie as plates were cleared from the feast table. "What plan can there be? The Mother of Dragons, the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, the Queen of the Andals and the First Men, the first of her – well you know the bit – is sleeping with the disgraced Lannister Imp. The Half-man. The Demon Monkey. The –"

"The only man in Westeros worthy of her affections."

Tyrion and Varys both turned to find Sansa Stark standing in front of them. She wore a lovely smile, her eyes meeting Tyrion's.

It was Varys who spoke first.

"Many have spoken of your brother –"

"Who has no interest in being King and still mourns the love he lost." Sansa set her gaze on Varys and even Tyrion, in his slight stupor, was taken aback by the intensity.

"Still, the Queen must have an heir."

Tyrion heard himself groan. How he hated hearing his own thoughts come from another's lips. It lent validity to what he had secretly prayed were the nonsensical ramblings of an insecure man.

Sansa laughed, a flighty sound that made Tyrion mad.

"And if the Queen wants an heir, I believe Lord Tyrion is well equipped for the task."

Tyrion groaned again, draining the rest of his cup before casting it aside. It clattered to the floor, silencing the conversations around them.

"By all means, please discuss my manhood as though I were not present."

"I only meant," Sansa said quietly, "that there is no reason why you could not provide said heir. You're a man. She's a woman. Seems to me the requirements have been satisfied."

Tyrion opened his mouth to respond when Varys spoke first.

"The question is not of whether or not the Hand can complete the task. The question is whether or not it is appropriate or the best political decision for the realm."

"I'm so glad it's not my manhood we have doubts about! That's a great comfort when the real concern is whether or not the Imp would sire a dwarf with the Mother of Dragons. After all, how could a dwarf ever prove himself worthy of being anything more than a glorified pet, let alone worthy of ruling?!"

Tyrion's voice had risen to a shout and the entirety of the Great Hall and grown silent. Tyrion looked around, his chest rising and falling with the force of his anger, and saw all eyes on him. Some were filled with curiosity, some with shock, and many more with pity. Daenerys had risen from her chair and looked to have been on her way to them when shock stilled her steps. Shame overwhelmed Tyrion. He had never felt so grotesque or inadequate in all his life. He gave Sansa a quick bow and then turned, fleeing the Great Hall.

"Tyrion!" Daenerys's voice called after him, but Tyrion could not bring himself to stop. He stepped out into the night and put his fingers in his mouth, raising a whistle into the air. He ran down the steps of the Keep and felt relief wash over him when he heard Rhaegal's wings flapping in the near distance.

Footsteps sounded from behind him and Tyrion just made it to the clearing as Rhaegal swooped, landing with a thud. Tyrion ran up his outstretched wing and barely had grasped the saddle when he heard Daenerys's scream his name.

"Get me out of here," he said to Rhaegal and Rhaegal huffed before flying into the air. Tyrion looked down to see Daenerys standing on the ground below them, her hair blowing on the wind.

XXXX

Tyrion could no longer feel his fingertips, let alone maintain his grip. The cold had taken hold of him hours before. After all, he had not thought to grab a cloak when he fled the Great Hall. Still, he had held on, allowing Rhaegal to go wherever he pleased. It was rather entertaining, the part of his mind that was not fractured noted, to see Rhaegal in his element. He feasted on life from the seas, soared higher than any mountain Tyrion had ever seen, and made sounds Tyrion thought might have been the dragon form of humming.

When he could bare it no longer, Tyrion guided Rhaegal to the ground, landing on the beach. He climbed down and walked around to Rhaegal's front. Rhaegal lowered his head to sniff Tyrion and he placed a hand on the dragon's nose. When he'd finished giving his silent thanks to great beast, Rhaegal shook his head defiantly and huffed, kicking off into the air.

Tyrion laughed and turned to make his way back to the Keep. When he looked up, he found Missandei sitting in the sand watching him.

"Gods but you startled me!" Tyrion exclaimed and took a moment to gather himself before walking over to her. "What are you doing out here?"

Missandei leaned back on her palms and looked up at the stars above her. She wore a heavy cloak, wrapped tightly around her body.

"What was it like? Being that close to the stars?"

Despite the cold, Tyrion took a seat beside her, drawing his knees to his chest.

"They shine much more brightly from the air. As though the gods themselves poked holes through a tapestry to allow the light behind to shine down upon us."

"Will you take me up to see it some night?"

Tyrion laughed and nodded.

"It would be an honor, my dear."

Missandei set her eyes upon him then. She stared at him, not a trace of pity or gentle understanding in her eyes.

"Who are you," she said, "to say such things in front of our Queen? She chose you –"

"To be her Hand," Tyrion said, interrupting.

"To be her everything. Her lover, her friend, her confidant. And yes, her advisor. She chose you, My Lord, for a reason."

Tyrion shook his head. He knew all this. He knew the Queen was sincere. He had never doubted her affections or how she would fight for him; fight to be with him. But in the great game, it mattered not what she wanted. It only mattered what was right for the Realm. Tyrion reached over and look Missandei's hand in his, patting it gently.

"You don't understand, dear child, what is at stake here."

Missandei put her other hand over Tyrion's and leaned forward.

"You don't understand, My Lord, what is at stake. Whom but you can the Queen trust? Whom but you would help her guide the Seven Kingdoms to peace? Whom but you would understand what steps must be taken to support Jon Snow's winter war? You may offer your guidance as the Hand without taking her bed, but you forget one thing necessary for a peaceful reign."

Tyrion cast a puzzled look at Missandei.

"A happy Queen."

Tyrion exhaled, rolling his eyes in the darkness.

"A nation is only as happy as its ruler. You make her happy, My Lord. You bring her peace and comfort. She feels safe as long as you are by her side. I know; she's told me as much. Would you throw it all away because you're afraid?"

"I'm not afraid. It's not about me –"

"It is and you are," Missandei said. "You fear giving in to what you want, allowing yourself to be happy, only to sire a –"

Tyrion held his hand up, stopping her.

"Please, Missandei. I can't discuss this again."

"If you're honest, truly honest, with yourself, you'll realize that is the thing you fear most. Siring another like yourself. You've been told your whole life how worthless you are, how much better the rest of your family is than you. You've been mocked in the streets and mocked in the courts. You don't want to give the Queen a child who would be subject to the same fate."

Tyrion released Missandei's hand and rose suddenly, his hands moving through his hair as adrenaline coursed through his veins.

"Of course I fear that!" He scoffed and turned away, his voice rising with the intensity of his emotions. "How could I do that to her? How could I give her, the Mother of Dragons, the Unburnt, the most deserving, wonderful woman I've known… How could I give her an imp for a child? She's already lost one child. I can't give her a tiny monster to rear."

Missandei stood, drawing her cloak tighter around her shoulders. She sighed, looking to the stars.

"You hide behind politics, using the realm's reaction as an excuse rather than talking with your Queen. Have you asked her what she wants? Have you asked her which is more important: Being loved earnestly, beautifully, and wholly – and being given a child to love the same – or marrying a man who would seek to use her for her power rather than love her as she deserves. Have you asked her?"

"We've talked briefly. She doesn't believe she'll bare children again."

"But have you asked her opinion on baring your child, should it come to it? Is there really any other opinion, yours included, that is more important than hers?"

Tyrion stared at the girl. She was maybe half his age, yet she spoke with more wisdom and empathy than he'd exercised that night. She smiled at him and then looked at the stars once more.

"It matters not what the world sees and calls beautiful, for that which is truly beautiful is often that which the world does not see at all."

XXXX

Tyrion entered the Tower of the Hand, blowing into his cupped hands as he made his way to his bedchambers. The torches were still lit in the corridors, though the Tower was silent and the workers within all sleeping. He pushed open the door to his room and closed it behind himself, immediately pouring a cup of wine. He took a deep, warming swallow, and then turned taking in the sight of the Queen sleeping in his bed. He stared at her, cup raised to his lips. The moonlight illuminated her features and cast her hair in a soft glow. It made Tyrion's heartache to look at her.

With a sigh, he set the cup down and undressed, discarding his clothes on the floor. He climbed into the bed and felt Daenerys lay her head on his chest immediately. He put his arm around her and rested his hand on her shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"Be sorry tomorrow," she replied. "Embrace me tonight."

XXXX

When Tyrion awoke the next day, well into mid-morning, his bed was empty. His hands ached from maintaining his grip during his hours-long flight in the cold night. He sat up, and ran a hand over his face. _Time for a trim_ , Tyrion thought idly. His beard was going to begin to mimic the Dothraki style if he let it go much longer. Without delaying, Tyrion pulled himself from bed and dressed in the fresh clothes laid out by one of the handmaidens.

He paused by the door, eyes lingering on the bottle of wine and accompanying cups on his desk. He shook his head and turned away, deciding it was best to be sober for his conversation with the Queen.

It was Varys he found first upon his search for Daenerys. His expression was grim as he rose to greet the Hand.

"My Lord Hand," he said and Tyrion waved his hand dismissively, intending to continue past him on his way to the Queen's chambers.

"You won't find her there," Varys called after him. Tyrion stilled in his tracks and turned, casting questioning eyes on the Spider. "The Queen travels to Winterfell on dragonback."

Tyrion felt his blood boil. This meant she had gone unprotected, leaving her army behind.

"What do you mean she's gone to Winterfell?"

"A raven came for Lady Stark. It seems Arya Stark is alive and has arrived in Winterfell. Of course, Lady Stark sought to return to her home immediately and the Queen decided to escort her. She also plans to meet with Jon Snow and tour the North."

Tyrion was moving before he could process Varys's words. Varys kept up with him easily as Tyrion made his way out of the Keep to beckon Rhaegal. Just as he was about to whistle for his dragon, Varys stopped him.

"The Queen has commanded her Hand remain in King's Landing as acting King in her absence."

Tyrion spun on him.

"I'm to allow the Queen to travel unprotected in a land that has not yet fully embraced her? She leaves behind her army and her guards. Rhaegal and I can catch up with her quickly, yet I'm to remain here?"

"The Queen has traveled alone before and survived more dangerous situations – without her dragon. Sansa Stark has pledged fealty to the Queen. She has the protection of the North and, as I have been instructed to remind you, meeting with Jon Snow is critical to earning the loyalty of the Northern houses."

Tyrion allowed Varys's words to wash over him. The Queen would meet with Jon Snow. She would make a plan, a pact, an accord in the interest of peace. She would do so without input from her advisors, without his guidance.

"Perhaps it would ease your concerns to know Grey Worm has gone with her," Varys said. "He left her no choice, really. He's perhaps even more stubborn than you are."

Knowing this did help, but Tyrion felt his worry melt into something else. Sadness.

"Wine," he said and turned, seeking some out. Varys cleared his throat and Tyrion froze. "The Queen has rid the castle of its stores. She feels the King should be sober in order to properly fulfill his responsibilities to the throne."

Tyrion sneered and shook his head. He went back to his room and found the bottle of wine on his desk was empty. He groaned loudly and kicked the chair before sweeping from the room.

The day passed in a blur. Countless Lords and other citizens had requested audience with the Queen, though Tyrion found it blatantly obvious they did not expect to see him sitting on the Iron Throne when they entered. Many Lords requested help rebuilding the areas surrounding the Sept of Baelor and many more had lost sons and workers to the Wildfire. They now could not maintain their own lands or businesses.

Desperation surrounded Tyrion, drowning him. He couldn't drink to help manage the weight of it nor could he flee from the responsibilities set before him. All he could do was listen, empathize and attempt to do right by the innocents.

Nightfall came before Tyrion received the last Westerosi. He collapsed back on the throne as Varys strolled forward.

"It's not very comfortable, the throne," Tyrion said, scowling.

"I imagine it wouldn't be, Your Grace."

"Don't call me that."

Varys smirked up at him, his hands clasped in front of his body. He'd been there with Tyrion all day, acting as Tyrion's Hand, though not proclaimed as such. He lent advice where appropriate, and sometimes where it wasn't, and took the duty of explaining the Queen's absence to those who wondered about it aloud. Tyrion was thankful for him, though he still blamed him for the confrontation the night before.

"You managed to get through the day, acting King of Westeros. How do you feel?"

"Annoyed," Tyrion said, rising from the throne. "But, satisfied, I suppose. No one tried to murder me. Olenna Tyrell has yet to burst down the doors or poison me."

"Interesting, that," Varys said. "The Lannister Imp has been named acting King and riots have not broken lose. The Demon Money sits on the throne and the world has not come to an end. The Half-man –"

Tyrion held up his hand, silencing Varys.

"Your point being? You're the one, if I recall correctly, who was quick to point out the complications of my bedding the Queen."

"I've never questioned your ability to rule, Your Grace, nor have I concerned myself with whom you lay with. I only wonder if the decision is being made in the best interest of the Realm and of our Queen, should you sire a child with her."

Tyrion sighed deeply. It all came back to the possibility of him impregnating the Queen with a dwarf. He couldn't be sure that would happen, nor could he guarantee it wouldn't. The only way to guarantee the Queen would not birth a dwarf, should she ever be able to conceive, would be to marry her to another man rather than take her bed himself. Missandei's words from the night before spoke clearly in his head and he glanced up at Varys.

"It hardly matters what we think. Perhaps it's time we stop trying to make this decision for the Queen when she knows what she wants and needs better than anyone."

XXXX

Three days passed before the Queen returned to King's Landing. Tyrion spent most of his free time with his brother, but he had very little actual free time, he found. He'd developed plans for all contingencies depending on the outcome of the Queen's meeting with Jon Snow. He had mapped out how they would join forces with the North to fight the white walkers. He had created a list of Lords Daenerys could marry in order to expand her power, but no matter how he looked at it, the best option was Jon Snow, whom Sansa had said would not agree. He had even detailed a plan that did not call for any sort of union through marriage.

He had also come up with a budget and balanced the coin ledger. In the Queen's absence, he used his leverage as acting King to appoint Jamie as Master of Coin. He knew he may face the Queen's wrath on this point, but she had wanted to prove her point by naming him King in her absence. He merely did his job and appointed the best qualified person in Westeros for the job.

He was sitting on the throne conferring with the interim commander of the Unsullied when the Queen entered, accompanied by Grey Worm. Tyrion's eyes locked on the Queen's as she strolled forward. He removed himself from the throne immediately and knelt in front of it as the Queen took her seat. She looked at him once, expression blank, and then fixed her vision to ahead.

Tyrion rose from his knee and saw that Grey Worm had taken his place beside Missandei who stood behind the Queen. They stood close enough that their arms touched, though they did not greet each other in any other informal manner.

"I would like to confer with the Hand of the Queen," Daenerys said, her focus still trained on the entirety of the court rather than Tyrion.

Tyrion watched as the Throne Room emptied, leaving just him and the Queen. Still, she stared ahead. When she finally set her eyes upon him, her expression was cold as steel.

"Please report on the state of affairs during my absence."

Battling the absurd impulse to laugh, Tyrion shoved his nerves aside and told the Queen about the various issues brought forth by the Lords and other citizens. He told her of the manpower he had designated to clearing and rebuilding the Sept and surrounding establishments. He told her of the Unsullied he had lent to various Lords to help with upkeep on their land while he worked to find and employ workers for each of the Houses. He told her of his decision to name Jamie as Master of Coin, which he was surprised to see evoked no reaction. When he was done, she nodded and folded her hands in her lap.

"It sounds as though you found yourself perfectly capable of ruling in my stead."

Tyrion paused and then inclined his head in agreement.

"Mm," she said.

"Might I ask," Tyrion said, after several moments of silence, "how your trip went?"

"Productive," the Queen said and rose from her throne. "I met the Lords and Ladies of the Northern Houses, toured the lands, broke bread with the Freefolk, and held audience with Jon Snow and his council."

Tyrion waited for her to tell him the outcome of these meetings, yet she did not elaborate. Finally, Tyrion pressed forward once more.

"And what decisions were made at these meetings?"

"None," she said simply. "Other than what we'd already decided: we will join forces with the North when called upon. Winter is here. There's no denying it. Did you think I would agree to anything else without you there?"

Tyrion opened his mouth to respond, but thought better of it and shook his head instead.

"Unlike my Lord Hand, I don't make decisions alone with the input of those most effected. And if I were to do so, I surely wouldn't scream it about to a roomful of people."

 _There it is_ , Tyrion thought. He took a deep breath and looked up at her. She had moved to stand beside one of the windows at the side of the court, sunlight enveloping her.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I should have been honest with you. I had hoped that by not talking about it, no decisions would have to be made… We could just stay as we were. I was merely putting off the inevitable."

"Do you think me so pathetic, so weak and easily swayed, that I would have cast you aside for fear of what? Giving birth to a dwarf?"

Tyrion winced, but said nothing.

"How is it I can make love to a dwarf, sleep beside him, call him my Hand, hold his opinion in esteem over all others, and yet I cannot love one born from my own flesh? And why is it, Tyrion Lannister, that you of all people hold stature to be the most important quality in man? No one else cares, Tyrion. Armies follow your command. A Queen takes council with you. Nations flourish when you are there to lead them. Yet still you refuse to allow yourself to be loved."

Daenerys groaned loudly and pushed herself away from the window, turning to face him.

"Jon Snow has agreed to join forces by marriage."

Tyrion's jaw dropped and his heart clenched desperately causing him to take a step forward to steady himself.

"I thought no decisions were made?"

"And so none were, but his advisors know, just as well as we do, that our union would be the strongest chance of survival and peace for all. That's not to say he wants to marry me, in fact he argued every step of the way. But he agreed in the end."

Tyrion turned away, remembering the plans he had drawn which clearly stated Jon Snow should be at the Queen's side. It made Tyrion sick. His mind raced as his heart warred his strategic brain. He respected Jon Snow, liked him even. But how could he be expected to serve as Hand, watching them wed and rule together, when he'd fallen in love with her? He had a duty to the realm, he knew. And he wanted to fulfill that duty, but gods it hurt.

"I shall notify the kitchen, Your Grace," he said, turning to leave the room. "We must have a feast to celebrate your engagement."

Daenerys caught him by the shoulder just as he reached the door and spun him around.

"I didn't agree to marry him, you damn fool. I placed you on the throne for a reason! No one is more capable of ruling at my side than you. Jon Snow doesn't even want to be King. He just wants to lead his armies into battle. I don't believe he plans to survive much beyond that. Besides," she said, smirking, "he's too pretty for me."

Tyrion laughed out loud despite the misery he'd felt only seconds earlier.

"My child will be strong and commanding like his father with more empathy and understanding for the human condition than any other. He will have his father's sense of humor and thirst for knowledge. And he will understand what it means to love and be loved unconditionally."

"Your child? I thought you didn't believe you'd have children?"

Daenerys smiled and shrugged, lacing her fingers through his.

"I'm beginning to hope."

Tyrion kissed her hand, feeling relief flood him.

"I've missed you," he said and they walked from the throne room, hand-in-hand, into the light of day.

XXXX

Tyrion's relationship with the Queen had been met with far fewer protests than he had expected. There will still those who whispered in the shadows and cursed the Lannister name when his back was turned, but the city was on the rise. Commerce had begun to flow again under his plan and his brother's care. The Queen worked with her dragons and alchemists to create dragonglass, which would be crucial in the battle with the Night's King.

The Queen ruled firmly but fairly. She had given the North their independence, as she had given the Iron Islands to Yara Greyjoy (who had sent multiple ravens to the Daenerys proposing marriage). Operating under a set of proclamations set forth by the Queen, the Seven Kingdoms were enjoying the first months of peace they'd know in years.

Both Tyrion and Daenerys had flown to Winterfell on several occasions. On this particular occasion, they had brought Missandei, fulfilling Tyrion's promise to show her the stars up close. Now, Tyrion watched as the two women prepared for dinner with the Freefolk. Missandei pulled the Queen's hair back, braiding half and crossing each braid over itself before pinning it into place. It did his heart well to see them laugh together, even in this cold, foreign place. Winterfell had always chilled Tyrion to the bones, but now the winter winds were upon them.

Tyrion excused himself, leaving the ladies in the room he shared with the Queen. He wandered until he found himself at the same spot he had first seen Sansa and Jon many years ago when he'd journeyed with King Robert, Cersei, and her children. They were all dead now, yet Tyrion remained. He had Jamie still, for which he was thankful, but it was an odd feeling – missing a family that had always hated you.

"Your Grace," Sansa's voice called.

Tyrion turned and smiled, shaking his head.

"I'm not King yet, My Lady."

"But you will be," she said, smiling. "If I had known all along you'd end up on the throne, I would have been kinder."

"You weren't unkind," Tyrion said. "Not given the situation we found ourselves in."

"Well at least one of us will marry for love in the end."

Tyrion smiled sadly and reached out, taking her hand. He prayed to the old gods and the new that she might find happiness, whether independently or with a spouse. As though reading his mind, Sansa squeezed his hand.

"I'll be fine. It's not so bad really; at least this way I know I'll never again be hurt the way he hurt me. I can raise my child in peace, the way I want to, as a Stark."

Tyrion's eyes widened and he choked on his words. Sansa offered him a small smile and rested her hand on her stomach.

"He's part of me now. But it will be the most beautiful part of me."

Tyrion guided her to a nearby bench and they sat, her hand still in Tyrion's.

"Have you told anyone yet?"

"Just Jon. I told him the night I found out. He held me while I cried and cursed the gods. When I was done, he promised to help me raise him. Or her. I rather hope it's a girl," Sansa leaned in, as though telling him an even greater secret than she already had. "It'll be easier to raise a girl if Jon dies in battle."

Sadness cut through Tyrion. Words failed him, which they so rarely did, and all he could do was put his arm around her. Sansa leaned into his side and they sat in silence until Sansa sat up and looked down at him, taking a deep breath.

"Shall we go inside? I made lemon cakes."

Tyrion chuckled and nodded, kissing the side of her head before they rose. They walked together – comfortable understanding saying the words that lips failed to. When they reached shelter, Tyrion paused.

"Should he fall in battle, Sansa, come to King's Landing. We'll help you. You can raise the child there under my protection."

Sansa reached out and placed her hand on Tyrion's face, shaking her head.

"There must always be a Stark in Winterfell."

XXXX

Tyrion and Daenerys were wed 100 days after arriving in King's Landing. It was not a public ceremony; only a select number of guests were invited, including the Starks, Yara Greyjoy, Lyanna Mormont, Tormund Giantsbane, and the Small Council. Rather than have a wedding feast, Tyrion and Daenerys chose to have the food dispersed among the people. They then celebrated on the sea surrounded by the Unsullied and the Dothraki, just as they had on their way to Westeros.

Daenerys, Missandei, Yara, and Sansa danced in a circle on the flagship, music filling the ocean air. Tyrion spotted Tormund and Brienne on the neighboring ship, standing close enough together they might as well have been embracing. They passed one cup of Windling ale back and forth between the two of them. Laughter took Tyrion's attention from the almost-couple and he turned to see the women pull Grey Worm into the circle, forcing him to dance with them.

When the Queen's eyes settled on Tyrion and she motioned for him to join, he put aside his cup and moved with purpose, joining them. Before long, Sansa pulled Jon into the circle, laughing as he twirled her awkwardly. Tyrion quickly found himself lost in the laughter and joy surrounding them, and allowed himself to be completely carefree, dancing with his wife surrounded by friends and family.

Long after the wine and ale ran out, long after the music died down and the fires burnt to embers, Tyrion and Daenerys made their way back to their chambers. Daenerys threw herself onto the bed, stretching her tired body. Her dress, silver and white to match her hair, fanned out over the side of the bed and spilled onto the floor.

Tyrion watched as she sat up suddenly, setting her gaze upon him. Fire filled her eyes as she watched him pull at his clothes, stripping in front of her.

When he reached her, she pulled him onto her body, taking his lips with hers. Tyrion bit her lower lip gently, his hands pulling at the laces on the front of her dress. She breathed into his mouth and moaned when he tugged at the front of her dress, pulling it open. Her breasts spilled out, swollen and full. Tyrion felt his hardness pressing into his wife's thigh and he moved forward, laying his body on hers.

"My love," Tyrion whispered against her chest, his hands tracing her skin. He kissed her again and again, their bodies one as they moved together in the moonlight. Every place she touched seemed to tingle, leaving him hot and wanting for more.

"My King," she replied, arching her back off the bed as he kissed her stomach. There was not an inch of her body he had not explored, yet it felt as though he were touching her for the first time. Something had changed; suddenly what they were doing was not a shameful secret to be hidden away. He nibbled the inside of her thigh as his fingers grazed her sex eliciting another moan from her lips.

Tyrion's hands moved of their own accord: stroking, rubbing, exploring and gripping. It was only when he felt he'd explode from need that he filled her, the force of his thrust lifting her off the bed. Daenerys gasped and gripped the bedding, her eyes meeting his.

"Please," she whispered before her head fell back on the bed once more. She moved with him, her hips rising to meet his. Tyrion groaned, driving forward. Knowing he was too close, too overwhelmed by sensation and love, he drew away and rolled her onto her stomach. Her whimpers of protests made him chuckle as he leaned down over her body, kissing her shoulders. He covered her back with his lips as his hand moved between her legs, making her writhe beneath him.

When she could take no more, Daenerys drew herself onto her knees and pushed him down on the bed, straddling him. This time it was Tyrion who cried out when she lowered herself on him.

"Please," she whispered again and this time Tyrion understood her meaning. She gripped his hands, pinning them to the bed as she held herself up, rocking on him over and over.

"My Queen," Tyrion moaned, closing his eyes as he felt himself drawing closer to the edge. She leaned down over him and spoke into his ear, her breath hot on his skin. She begged him to fill her with his seed, to claim his wife and bind them together forever. She moaned as he pushed up into her hard and bit down on his neck.

Tyrion could hold out no longer. He released her hands and grabbed her waist as he held her down on him. Daenerys threw her head back as he pulsed inside her and then she felt him hot inside her, filling her. Her own climax hit as she felt her husband empty himself into her, promising her what she wanted most: his child.

 **THE END**


End file.
